Becoming
by SensiblyTainted
Summary: How much of what you are depends on your environment? If everything changed, who would you become? Harry Potter is about to find out. If it would save everything he loved, could he become a Dark Lord?
1. Possessed

**A/N: **This story is going to be dark, but I hope not overly so. It will eventually be slash. If any of these things upset you, then leave now. Otherwise, I really look forward to what you think of my new story. It starts after the attack on the Department of Mysteries and Sirius' death. Everything up to this point has followed canon. It will no longer match canon from here on out! Well, here we go:

**Becoming**

**-**

**Possessed**

Excruciating.

Smothered by sticky blackness, grasping and clutching at him no matter how he struggled.

Slimy vileness seeping into every crevice, into every inch of his soul.

Harry thrashed and rebelled and _screamed_.

He couldn't break free.

Miles away Dumbledore was talking, and _he_ was talking back.

Miles away and yet Harry was there, crouched at the back of his own eyes, so really it was only inches separating him from freedom. The distance was more than something physical, however, while the weight of _him_ pressing down, choking out his very life, was very tangible.

Exhausted, Harry stilled. Why fight? He wasn't strong enough. Trapped in an acidic cage, pushed out of everything that was fundamentally his.

_**Sirius**_

Greif, regret, _anguish_ washed through him, further stealing his strength, and he wailed his despair…

Wait.

He couldn't wail. He no longer had lungs or a body.

**O**

Voldemort screamed. The foreign emotions burned. How long since he'd been human? Too long to remember how to cope with such things, certainly.

Grief boiled his blood.

He flinched away and realized that gave _Potter_ power. He quickly reestablished his grip, but it was too late. That old fool was encouraging the boy, and _Potter_, of course, immediately responded like the obedient puppy he was.

Regret scraped like knives.

Voldemort held on. Determined to win this battle. He could outlast the stupid _brat!_

Sorrow tore like salt in a wound.

Was the child a masochist? It was too much. With a scream of rage, Voldemort yanked/pulled/pushed free of the disgusting mire. But he underestimated how much power the possession had sapped from him. When he tried to Apparate to safety, unconscious snatched him away instead.

**O**

Lucius dove for his Lord's collapsing body, emergency portkey ready. The fool, Albus, lifted his hand, but he was slowed by his concern for the equally limp Potter. A sharp tug behind his navel, and they left the ruins of the Ministry lobby.

The receiving room at Malfoy Manor stood empty, and he stood up with a quiet curse. The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased if he were left on the floor, but he wouldn't be pleased to be manhandled somewhere else, either. He sneered at himself. Who was he trying to fool? The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased regardless. They had failed. The prophecy remained a mystery, Potter still lived, and soon the world would be told of the Dark Lord's return. However, maybe he could still buy himself leniency by doing some damage control.

"Mizzy!"

An elf appeared promptly. Lucius didn't give it time to speak.

"Place my Lord in the east guest-suite and care for his every whim. Alert me as soon as he awakens."

"Yes, Master," the elf answered, eyes bulging.

Lucius smirked, glad he wouldn't have to deal with moving the Dark Lord himself. The man was a powerhouse with magic and a genius to its manipulation and application. His determination remained without equal. This was the man who held on to existence through sheer will for a _decade_. A man who'd only been returned to a physical body for a measly year, and he was already dueling a powerful Light Lord. He was capable of feats none could duplicate. Thus ensuring Dark wizards would follow, obey, and worship him despite the erratic moods and excessive punishments.

Not to mention the fact that to refuse the Dark Lord would mean an immediate death sentence that would possibly extend to family and friends. Light wizards had no idea. They defied and antagonized Lord Voldemort from behind wards and comrades willing to defend them. Let's see their defiance while within His reach! While Lord Voldemort had access to wives, children, siblings. Let's see them antagonize the Dark Lord then!

Lucius shook his head. He had to concentrate. He had to be cunning if he were going to survive. He'd been seen in Death Eater regalia without his mask. Some of the others might not have evaded arrest at all. If he moved quickly, he could create an alibi and be seen in public. When questioned, he could suggest the Death Eater look-alike had been polyjuiced to sow distrust. Or better yet, it could be Light fanatics trying to set him and other Dark scholars up to 'cleanse' the world.

Yes. It was still workable.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry opened his eyes reluctantly. He felt sick. His head pounded, and the inside of his skin itched dreadfully. On the plus side, he was warm. Comfortable sheets surrounded him, and warm sunlight fell gently on his face. He lazily took in the large glass window, the elegant arch, the smell of sandalwood.

With a gasp, he surged upward. His heart began to race in his chest as he took in the luxurious setting. He'd never been anywhere so obviously wealthy. The large bed was almost the size of his dorm room!

Memory trickled in. Visions, the Department of Mysteries, the fight, **Sirius**, being _possessed_…

He was definitely awake and definitely hyperventilating, which actually kind of helped with the horrible headache. Harry felt an insane urge to giggle and had to bite his lip to stop it from escaping.

A loud crack almost made him jump out of his skin.

"Does my Lord sir require anything?"

An elf knelt, trebling, on the floor. Harry wondered at the excessive title, but he brushed it aside in favor of more important things. "Where…" He jumped again, his heart stuttering to a panicked stop as he whipped his head around. Gripping the sheets in tight fists, Harry tired to keep from falling apart. Maybe he was crazy, but that had sounded a lot like…

"Great Dark Lord sir, are you well?" The elf practically quaked in terror, its forehead pressed to the thick carpet.

Harry numbly looked at his hands. Such a simple thing. We see our hands a hundred, no a _thousand_, times a day. The pale, slick skin encasing bony fingers much too long visibly trembled.

They weren't his hands.

"Oh… god…" he rasped in a horrified whisper.

His mind short-circuited, unable to accept or deal with what had happened. He fainted dead away.

**O**

Voldemort stared thoughtfully at the fifteen year old staring back at him. He was relatively healthy and attractive, if on the smaller side. The power level was a surprise, but the control was abysmal. The boy's features were at once familiar and strange from this perspective.

He now owned the body of the Boy Hero.

Dumbledore couldn't live forever, and who would fill that gap? Who would people look to? The Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, of course. People would follow Harry Bloody Potter unquestioningly. They would jump at the chance to be a 'hero' like their beloved Wonder Boy. This was better than he could ever have conceived.

Bright green eyes twinkled, bloody _twinkled_, at him from his reflection, and a slow smile stretched his full lips.

Yes, he would have to deal with lack-wits, Mudbloods, blood-traitors, and worst of all, that fool Dumbledore, but this was a glorious chance to shape the world, to become the rightful ruler of wizendom. He'd have to work on magic control, and, for Merlin's sake, eat a little more, but he could do this. He _would_ do this.

Another way this worked in his favor, he was free from Dark-addiction. He'd thought it was a myth, something the Light created to try and prevent the use of Dark magic, but now that he was in a clean body, he realized just how much he'd been affected. For the first time in decades, he was thinking clearly.

Obviously, this time around he should be wiser, more judicious in the use of Dark Arts. They were meant to be used cunningly, not obsessively. Their very nature spelled destruction. If not handled with care, they would destroy the user as quickly as the target. It was a disgrace to be controlled _by_ the Dark instead of the one _in_ control.

The best part of all this, though, was the world would help him destroy his now weakened enemy and love him for it. Harry Potter would _die_. Voldemort began to laugh, the sound innocent and joyful as it had not been in many long years.

"Harry?"

Voldemort spun, falling silent. Intelligent eyes stared back at him from the face of a girl-child. He carefully Legimenized her to see her expectations of his behavior. He could not give himself away. "Herm, I didn't hear you come in." And he hadn't. This body had a lot of work ahead of it.

"Should you be out of bed?"

Voldemort adopted a subdued expression. "Don't want to sleep." His eyes dropped shyly. "Dreams. You know."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," the girl named Hermione responded with a tearful voice. She moved forward and wrapped him in a warm hug that had Voldemort's body reacting very pleasantly. "I'll miss him, too."

He nodded and stayed quiet, contemplating the joys of being in a healthy young body.

"Are you going back to the Dursleys?"

Glancing up into her eyes for an answer, he just barely kept from smirking. The famous hideaway the Potter boy always disappeared to during the summer. This would prove interesting. He also gleaned the fact Harry hated going back and always put up a passive-aggressive fight about it. Hmmm… A source of resentment between the old fool and Potter. Looked like he wouldn't have to fawn completely at the old man's feet, after all. That was a relief. He really did _hate_ Dumbledore.

"Harry?"

He gave her a sullen scowl. "Where else can I go? You know Dumbledore won't let me stay anywhere else."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

He was getting tired of her tedious company. "I should pack."

"Are you allowed out of the infirmary?"

Voldemort shrugged and walked toward the doors. She didn't try to stop him. Good. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was waiting for him in the hallway. Voldemort caught the snarl before it could form and turned it into a teenage glare before he dropped his eyes to his feet.

"My boy, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered shortly and internally berated himself. Did he want to get caught? Ducking his head, he shuffled his feet.

Dumbledore sighed. "I deserve your anger, Harry. Please, come to my office so I can explain."

The following hour was the most rewarding, _satisfying_ experience of Voldemort's life. Dumbledore told him the prophecy with his own lips. At last! He felt like cackling in glee. Better yet, he trashed that bastard's office, breaking many precious magical gadgets, and _he got away with it!_ It was glorious seeing the old man almost pander to him. Gone were the suspicious looks, the disapproving eyes that haunted his teenage years. Dumbledore _cared_ about him now.

Voldemort felt gloriously happy and was glad he was disappearing into the Muggle world for a few weeks. He needed to get more in character. Harry would be a rebellious, grieving teen who was intrinsically good. Not a fifteen year old grinning from ear to ear, practically skipping down the hall.

**xXxXxXx**

Dread clamped down on his stomach as Harry opened his eyes. The itching still scratched at him, but the headache was gone. The pale, strange hands weren't, however. Panic set in, and he flung himself from the bed, almost convinced he could escape the strange body encasing him. Panting, gasping, almost sobbing, Harry lost his balance, legs longer than he was used to, and went sprawling.

_Oh god oh god oh god._ Voldemort's body! **Disgusting**. _Revolting_. Make it stop, someone make it stop! I want to go _home!_

The sharp tang of bile as he vomited shocked him out of the panic attack. He sat really still, afraid to touch himself, afraid to feel _anything_.

"My Lord sir," an elf whispered with horror.

And then Bellatrix Lestrange slipped into the room. She paused, seeing him on his knees, a stinking spot of bile on the carpet, arms outstretched. She took a few steps closer and cleaned the mess, all the while talking in a simpering, infatuated voice.

Harry had no idea what she was saying. He couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. _Sirius_. Hate and rage pulled forth a deep and delicious strength. The itch grew worse and better as he hissed out a tight breath. He felt gripped by something infinitely bigger than him, and, at the same time, he felt _in control_ for the first time. Bellatrix had escaped him in the Ministry. She wouldn't survive this time.

Muscle memory had his wand in hand before he could even think to look for it. He wanted her dead. Need consumed him. He wanted her _dead_. And reflexively power answered his cry, perfectly tamed to his will.

Sirius laughing. Sirius wanting him to be family when no one else did. Sirius hugging him, loving him. Sirius **dead**. By this bitch's wand.

"Aveda Kedavra," he rasped.

A perfect jet of light stuck her in the chest.

And she was dead.

Glorious triumph sizzled along every nerve. It felt _good_, better than anything else ever had. It warmed him completely. No more grief, no more panic. No fear or anger, just this euphoric rush.

Harry stood and walked easily over to the woman. She looked like nothing now. Because she _was_ nothing now. He stood there, grinning, and the minutes slowly passed. The rush calmed and bled away. Slowly, the smile faded, leaving him _hungry_ and itchy again. His heart began to beat steadily faster, and not with joy.

A woman lay dead at his feet. Eyes glazed and utterly empty. She was just meat. Empty. It had felt good, so good. The memory made him twitch, wanting to do it again. It was so much better than giving a damn. So much easier. Made him so much more powerful. Distress, denial, surged in his gut.

"Oh god," he muttered dully. "What am I going to do?"

A couple things were obvious. He was _Voldemort_. People thought he was Voldemort, so he was among _Death Eaters_. And he had Voldemort's Dark Magic, not his own. Magic that wanted to be used, that this body _needed_ to use.

"What am I going to do?" he asked again, despairing.

He couldn't go get help. No one would believe him. They'd try to kill him on sight. He was the _Dark Lord_, after all. He was trapped with a corpse, one _he_ had killed. He was alone, and he had no clue what to do. He was sick and afraid. He wanted **Sirius**.

"S-S-Shall Mizzy t-take care of i-it, my L-Lord sir?"

Harry stared at the terrified, gibbering elf. It was scared of him. Suddenly he couldn't bear it. "Please," he rasped roughly. "Don't be afraid." He fell silent, disturbed by his own voice. He _hated_ the sound. It made his flesh crawl.

The elf stared at him warily, and Harry stared helplessly back. "Are you well, my Lord sir," it asked carefully.

Harry shook his head. He was definitely not all right. "Where am I," he whispered.

"Malfoy Manor, my Lord sir."

_Great._ Harry's stomach churned. He was going to be sick again. What would happen if the Death Eaters discovered the truth? He shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest protectively.

Snape.

The thought startled him. None of his friends would believe him, but Snape could look in his mind. Harry gritted his teeth, grinding them as he ducked his head. Snape. Snape hadn't listened. Snape could have prevented this whole disaster. And now Sirius was dead. Harry's entire face hurt from clamping down so hard. Pain pounded in his skull. He had no choice. There was literally no one else he could go to.

Decision made, he wondered how he could get Snape here. Again the magic came without him consciously calling it. The glorious euphoria flooded back as he reached instinctively for one of the connections attached to his magic. He pulled. Hard. A savage grin stretched his face, knowing how much that hurt the slimy git.

"No." Harry staggered as he mentally shoved away the seductive magic. It was so easy to use, so perfect. He was doing things before he even realized it. He couldn't let it continue to control him. He was used to letting his instincts rule him. That was okay before, but in this body it would destroy him. Magic wasn't just magic anymore. It was dangerous and deceptive.

_And addictive_, he realized, the itch becoming a burn under his skin.

"I'm addicted," he whispered fearfully.

Harry moved to the bed and sat numbly. The elf was still staring, and he felt a sudden flare of paranoia. What if it reported that Voldemort was acting crazy? He glared and hissed for it to leave. It disappeared instantly, eyes wide in fear. He felt a sudden urge to put his head in his hands, but his stomach rejected the idea of touching Voldemort's disgusting face. He sat rigidly, trying to even his breathing and stay calm.

**O**

Severus schooled his features into a blank mask. It was midday, the brats left on the train. Usually the Dark Lord waited until midnight to ask for his report, but after the debacle at the Ministry, he wasn't surprised by the early summons. He _was_ surprised, however, that the pull directed him to Malfoy Manor. He was further surprised when no one greeted him except a single elf.

"May I get sir anything?"

"Where is Lucius?" he demanded sharply.

"Severus? What are you doing here?" Said man stepped out from a parlor, a glass of brandy in his hand despite the early hour.

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "I was summoned."

Lucius' narrowed his eyes. The man thought he was hard to read, but Severus had known him since he was eleven. Lucius was not pleased. They always competed for their Lord's favor, so when one was summoned without the other, it always created worry. Severus smirked. Lucius glared back.

"I shouldn't keep him waiting," he said as he strode for the stairs. Severus didn't let it show on his face that he wasn't pleased either.

The Dark Lord hadn't told him about the Ministry attack or the plans to mess with Potter's head. Did he suspect Severus was a spy? Obviously Lucius hadn't been called to account despite being nearby. If he had, he wouldn't be in any condition to walk around, let alone drink fine brandy. It was never good to be the first, or even the tenth, to see the Dark Lord after a failed mission, and Severus suspected he _was_ the first. If the Dark Lord had been up and about before now, he wouldn't still be at Malfoy Manor.

A feeling of foreboding chilled him. Why was the Dark Lord still shut away? Had he been hurt in the battle? He knew from Albus that he'd fallen unconscious just like Potter, but the brat had awoken yesterday. Being singularly summoned to an injured and angry Dark Lord was a death sentence. Would Severus finally be granted that sweet release?

The feeling grew worse when he came to the entrance of the guest-suite and felt the source of his summons still deeper. His palms grew clammy as he crossed through several rooms to the bedchamber.

_Sweet Merlin._ He'd yet to hear stories of the Dark Lord taking up his sadistic bedroom games since his resurrection, and Severus had hoped they wouldn't be resumed. He honestly would rather be dead. Still, he'd been called, and until he answered, the tug would grow worse, possibly driving him insane. Besides, this was his penance to Lily, and the Order depended on his information.

Thus gathering his courage, Severus brought up a steady fist. He knocked twice.

"Come in."

It wasn't snapped furiously or hissed with sadistic glee. It was a tight, tense whisper that barely carried through heavy wood. Severus felt his hand begin to shake as he pushed open the door. He stepped into the brightly lit chamber and almost immediately tripped over a limp Bellatrix. Severus felt a bit calmer knowing he hadn't been first summoned. He shut the door and knelt, ignoring the sharp tang of bile in the air.

_Bella endured a rough session_, he thought with glee. _No one deserves it more_. He bowed his head, eyes on the carpet as he said aloud, "My Lord. You called."

Silence.

Severus began to sweat. The Dark Lord wasn't known for stillness or patience. Fear trickled back into his bloodstream.

"No care at all, Snape, for a fallen Death Eater?"

Every muscle in his body tensed at the hoarse rasp. His eyes darted to Bella. Dear Merlin, she was _dead_. Who had killed her? Did the Dark Lord think he'd done it? His breath was coming quicker, and he fought to remain cool and collected. Any show of emotion could be seen as a confession to a guilt he did not bear.

"My Lord, I thought her merely passed out. Who did this?" It wasn't a good idea to question the Dark Lord, but he'd already been reprimanded for saying nothing.

"I did."

Severus couldn't help it. He looked up. The inhuman face stared back at him. The stretched, pale features looked both pleased and horrified by what he'd just admitted. Severus could understand the first, but horrified? It was an utterly bizarre expression for the Dark Lord. He was missing something vital.

"My Lord," he stated, stalling, scrambling to understand the situation he'd walked into. He ducked his head again, but looked up through the screen of his hair, needing more clues.

"How do you detox from Dark magic?"

Severus almost gasped. Again his head shot up. The blood red eyes narrowed, and his heart gave a painful thud. "There are some rituals and potions to speed the process, but mostly it takes time. If the addiction is very bad, magic suppressants will be needed to keep the wizard from accidently using more."

The Dark Lord looked thoughtfully at the wall. "How much time? Is it painful?"

Severus relaxed, now understanding. The Dark Lord wasn't confessing to the unthinkable. He was merely exploring new torture methods. This was familiar, and he knew how to respond to best please his Lord. "Very painful, my Lord. The quicker you make the detox, the more agonizing the process."

Red eyes flashed over to him, the familiar mask of rage contorting the wax-smooth features. "And that makes you happy, does it?" A sharp back of laughter exploded from a tight throat. "Why am I not surprised?"

Severus trembled, unsure why his answer had set his Lord off. "I'm sorry, my Lord. Forgive me."

"Maybe I should try it on you." It was spoken in a dangerous hiss.

"I will do whatever you require of me, my Lord," Severus answered quickly. Plus, he'd already detoxed. It wouldn't be horrible for him.

The simpering answer was met with a familiar sneer. He felt almost dizzy between the unexpected and expected reactions. It was throwing him off, making him uncertain and unwise in his answers. Every prolonged moment in the Dark Lord's presence only put him in more danger of misstepping. He almost wanted to ask why he'd been summoned, but he didn't quite dare. Instead, he waited in silence as the Dark Lord sat stiffly at the edge of a disturbed bed that he'd yet to order Severus into.

It was very strange. He could only guess he was being tested. Failure wasn't an option. And he was failing so far. That was clear. First by not realizing Bella was dead. Then the Dark Lord had called him Snape, which he only ever did when he was questioning Severus' loyalties. And then again for his answer pertaining to detoxing.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Severus swallowed heavily and reached to open his Death Eater robes. Underneath he wore a black, long-sleeved button-up to hide the blasted Dark Mark and long pants. "If it would please you, my Lord," he said as steadily as he could. It still came out a bit faintly but that was okay. The Dark Lord liked fear, fed off it.

Red eyes stared at him. Severus took that for approval and shed his robe. His stained fingers began to unbutton his shirt, but he froze when a look of shock spread across his Lord's face. The lipless mouth dropped open while the red gaze snapped to the bed. Then an amazing thing happened that shocked Severus utterly.

The Dark Lord practically flung himself off the bed, palms out – not to cast agonizing magic but in an innocent gesture of denial – and placed his back to the wall, retreating from _him_.

Severus couldn't move, couldn't think. He was literally struck dumb.

**O**

"What? No! Put your clothes back on!"

Harry had been stalling, unable to think of a way to explain the unfathomable situation he now found himself in. And then Snape kept being a git and distracted him. It was almost fascinating to see the cold, impassive, frightening Potions Professor turn into this submissive, unsure man.

He still didn't know what to say, but he was done with the charade. He felt absolutely sick to think the Dark Lord made the Death Eaters sleep with him. He didn't for a moment think it'd be pleasant for the Death Eater, and the pale face and faint voice had told him Snape thought he wasn't being given a choice. For the first time, he felt pity for his hated teacher.

"There's been a mistake. I need help," he admitted reluctantly.

He _hated_ asking this man for help. The anger caught fire in his chest much quicker than normal, threatening to become rage, and he hastily struggled to stay calm. The magic came when he got angry. He looked to see Snape just standing there. Irritation scratched at his control.

"You're not helping," he grated, fists balled.

"My Lord?"

Harry could hardly hear him, Severus spoke so softly. He sighed. Obviously Snape was shaken. He thought he was facing his sick, perverted Master, and there was a dead body at his feet. Harry kept this in the front of his mind, holding on to his compassion with stubborn will.

"Before I explain, it's essential you don't make me mad. We must both stay calm. Do you understand?"

Snape's eyes grew round. "Yes, my Lord."

Harry almost laughed. He would have liked to have Snape this agreeable in school. "Just to make sure you understand, I'm addicted to Dark magic and can't control my responses right now. I killed _her_ before I knew what I was doing."

He carefully didn't say her name. He was still angry. She killed **Sirius**. But it was useless. The thought of his now dead godfather had rage boiling over him no matter his attempt to stay calm.

He blinked and everything altered subtly. His anger-filled eyes took in the pale, frozen, ugly face of his teacher. Snape had helped. He helped kill _Sirius_. If he only _listened!_ The magic rose and teased his raw nerves. It promised such good things. Snape would hurt. He'd pay for his betrayal.

"I know how to hurt you," Harry confessed, his voice that of Voldemort's – hungry and insane. "It will feel so good to hurt you. You deserve it."

"My Lord," Snape whispered, still standing there.

That's right. He belonged to Harry now, didn't he? He could feel the connection. It wrapped all around Snape, binding him. It was amazing that he could move at all. And it was his own fault. He'd become a Death Eater. He deserved everything that happened to him.

"No."

Harry purposefully grabbed his own face. The unfamiliar, monstrous features pressed into his palms. He welcomed the instant horror and disgust that rolled through him. It pushed the magic away, the unreasoning anger. Harry groped for sympathy. It was horrible how trapped Snape was. Harry knew about being trapped. He never wanted to be a hero, not even when he was a kid. But it was better than being a monster.

Hot tears fell from his eyes as he lowered his hands. Strange. He was taller than his teacher. It made Snape seem younger, more vulnerable. Or maybe that was because the man seemed about to faint.

"I'm not Voldemort," Harry bit out harshly, talking to himself as much as the other man. "This isn't me. I'm not a monster." He looked directly into Snape's dark eyes, silently inviting him to see for himself. "I'm Harry Potter."

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate it! It's been so long since I've written a new story, that I feel a bit nervous. Lol!


	2. Impossible Odds

**A/N: **Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for your encouragement. It really inspired me, so here you go! Another update! Lol.

**Impossible Odds**

Rage and shock made Severus' voice sharp. "Potter!"

Red eyes narrowed dangerously and Dark magic, powerful and deadly, surged in the room. Severus gasped as his mark began to burn, and habit had him falling to his knees and bowing his head to reveal the back of his neck in submission. _Merlin! I'm bowing to Potter! _His mind screamed at him. But the magic, _oh, the magic_, he knew better than to provoke the wielder of that Dark power.

Instincts warred with emotion. Desperately he groped for facts. Bellatrix was killed. By _Potter!_ He couldn't comprehend what he was facing, and the magic hadn't abated, the being before him still radiating barely controlled fury.

"A moment, please," he spoke in a neutral monotone.

Looking up through his hair he watched in fascination as the most feared wizard in a hundred years nodded, relief easing his tight shoulders a fraction. Could this be a test? Severus discarded that theory. The Dark Lord would not humiliate or weaken himself in front of others for _any_ reason. So this could either be Voldemort cracking and going completely insane, or he'd been told the truth.

The problem was he'd seen Potter before he'd left school. He'd seemed different but not unlike himself considering his most recent adventure. He'd seemed like the petulant, adventure seeking brat he always was. Granted Severus hadn't spent an extraordinary amount of time with him, but his friends hadn't suspected anything either. Albus hadn't suspected.

Severus paled. The Headmaster had, against his advice, told Potter the full prophecy. This was a disaster if true! Could Voldemort so successfully pretend to be Potter? _Yes_, he answered himself, _if he felt it benefited him_. And it already had. Albus had told the Dark Lord with his very own lips the prophecy, revealing the identity of the only person able to kill him.

The same enemy who was now wearing the face of the most feared wizard in the world. Yes, Voldemort very well could act like the Boy Wonder to gain all of that. Plus, he now had a clean body with untainted magic. He was going to start over. This time with a Wizarding world that would be more willing to follow him. Because this time he'd pose as the hero instead of the villain.

Severus regarded the fifteen year old who most likely hated him. He didn't like the boy much either, but hate was a strong word, one he would not apply to the teen. They weren't really enemies. Severus knew that, but the boy didn't. He did not know Severus had gone immediately to floo Headquarters to check on the aggravating mutt after he left Umbridge's office.

All Potter knew was that when faced with a second hostile teacher who'd tortured him with quills and the Cruciatus, Severus had turned his back and a deaf ear to his pleas about his beloved godfather. This after suffering for months during Occlumency training. But really! If the Dark Lord was in his mind and he saw Severus teaching the boy, it had to appear as if they were enemies! What else could he do?

Considering this animosity between them, it was frankly remarkable that Potter was retaining as much control as he was. Potter's rage over Black's death had been so strong he'd instinctively killed Bella. He was also recovering from the traumatic experience of being possessed and was in the twisted body of the man he detested like none other. Instead of running, howling, from Malfoy Manor, cursing whoever got in his way, the boy had sat still, had tried to suppress the Dark magic.

Severus had once been addicted, himself, as most Death Eaters were. The Dark Lord was a clever recruiter. Show a young man a brotherhood, promise fame and power, and teach them spells that slowly ensnared the soul. Within a season, at most a year, they were his. It was as simple as that.

In the face of all that, Potter had summoned _him_ and asked for help. Severus had to admit, he was impressed and surprised. He hadn't thought Potter was capable of such rigorous self-control. Keeping all this in mind, holding to that understanding, he took a deep breath and put aside any negative feelings he had for the boy.

"Okay, Potter," he said neutrally. "We'll figure this out."

He couldn't be nice or Potter would suspect treachery of some kind. Paranoia was also a side effect of addiction. In a way, he was still dealing with the Dark Lord. Potter had a Dark Lord's power and instinct, regardless whose mind was behind the eyes. Severus couldn't forget for a moment who he was dealing with or he'd be dead and Potter would have no one.

"Tell me to stop if this begins to upset you. After leaving you with Umbridge, I flooed Headquarters to check on Black. He answered that he was well. When I went back to tell you, you were already gone. I informed Albus, and he called in the Order. Black insisted on being included."

Potter stood as rigid as stone, jaw a sharp line as he clenched his teeth. The red eyes swirled with emotion but had yet to tip over into rage. It was a fine line Severus was walking. Grief was okay for the boy to handle, but if he let himself become even a little angry…

"Why didn't you give me some sign?"

"My Slytherins were watching. They would have caught anything I did. If my cover as spy is revealed, not only will I die and hundreds would suffer from Death Eater raids that the Order wasn't prepared for, but the little protection I grant Slytherins will disappear."

The exaggerated deep breaths were telling. Potter obviously struggled to stay calm. When he spoke again, his voice was the same tight rasp that had bade Severus enter. "Why do Slytherins need protection?"

It was the safest thing to ask about. Spies dying and Death Eater raids weren't as emotionally safe. Severus was reassured by the amount of common sense the boy kept displaying. "The Dark Lord is inherited whether you want to follow him or not. Imagine what would happen to Mr. Nott if Theodore decided not to join. He'd be tortured to death. I teach them to minimize their involvement without seeming disloyal. I also do not report to their parents who they do or do not talk to. If they are or are not practicing as they've been told. Addiction is also another way to procure more soldiers."

As he talked, Potter relaxed as he grew more thoughtful and less emotional. Severus lapsed into silence. He used the time to think of what they should do next. He hated to admit it, but he was still stunned by what had come about. He was having a hard time visualizing possible scenarios to work this in their favor.

"If I'm here, where's Voldemort?"

Not a good question. How do you admit to someone that no one noticed a difference between him and an evil mass-murderer?

Something of his thoughts must have flashed across his face because Potter bowed his head, voice tight once again as he said, "I see."

"You know how clever and convincing Voldemort can be," Severus explained gently. "Without the addiction fueling his insanity, he was able to masquerade as you for a day. Any inconsistencies were attributed to your grief over Black."

"How could he know what to say?"

"Legilimency, most likely."

"Ron, Hermione…" Potter sounded like he was in physical pain.

"He wouldn't hurt them, I swear to you," Severus quickly reassured. "He must pretend to be you. Hurting them in any way would reveal him."

Potter nodded once, sharply. "So where is he?"

"Privet Drive."

A grin of sadistic glee slashed across the misshapen features. He looked exactly like Voldemort at that moment, and Severus shivered in dread, bracing for a painful curse.

"Serves him right. Hope he enjoys every minute with those bastards."

The room filled with deadly, seductive power once more. The red eyes glowed as they looked on him. Severus bowed his head submissively and kept his hands in sight. He stood absolutely still, holding his breath, as his mark seared painfully against his arm.

Slowly, too slowly, the magic faded.

Severus realized that Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, was an honest to Merlin addict. Not only was he addicted, but Dark magic was so ingrained in every cell, in every corner of the boy's now saturated mind, that detox might well kill him. If Potter died, Voldemort would eventually rule the world. Severus would not want to condemn anyone to such a world.

"I'm in trouble," the boy rasped. It was a huge understatement, and they both knew it. "I need help."

Severus lifted his head and held the tormented ruby eyes. "I'm going to help you. We will fix this."

"You can switch us back?"

"It will take time and research, but we can certainly find a way to replicate what has already occurred. In the meantime, you have to survive."

"What do I do," he asked, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

"You need to detox. Dark magic is dangerous. There is equal danger in overusing pure Light magic. Most people use neutral magic for that reason. It's less dangerous to handle then either of the extremes. To wield Dark magic you have to be ever aware. Too frequently or sloppily used and you become addicted as Voldemort has become."

"I don't want to use it at all," Potter snapped and then quickly went back to deep, even breathing.

"I know you don't," Severus said soothingly. "But you are in the body of a Dark Lord. Completely avoiding Dark magic is not possible. You have to accept that and be ready to be in control, otherwise _it_ will control _you."_

"I don't want this. I never wanted any of this."

In other words, there was the childish 'I don't want to! It's not fair!' he'd expected from Potter from the beginning. Usually such whining annoyed him. Any intelligent person by the age of ten should have grasped the concept that life is all about doing things you didn't want to. Still, he felt maybe Potter had valid reason for a childish moment. This was a bit much for even the hardest cynic to accept with aplomb.

"What do I do?"

Potter had his chin raised, his feet set, red eyes focused and determined. Severus again felt impressed. That had taken less time than he'd expected. Maybe he hadn't understood the boy as well as he'd thought. But enough of that. It hardly mattered now. That Harry Potter was gone. He'd never be that boy again. Not after this.

"Detox will hurt, but not quite as badly as I made out," Severus said with a cool, detached voice. Being neutral was the key to dealing with this hair-trigger, mentally teenaged Dark Lord. "I will be with you the whole time. There are things that will ease your discomfort, and I will see that you have them."

"How long? How do I explain disappearing?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "My Lord, you explain nothing. For now, you must act like Voldemort. If the Death Eaters suspect you, they will go to the new Harry Potter. Voldemort will then have control over both Light and Dark without waging a single battle. This cannot happen."

Potter rubbed his temple. "I understand."

"Very well. Here's what we will do. I'll give you instructions to get to a safe haven that belongs to me. Only two people know its location, and neither will come unless I call them. It should be safe for you to detox there. Once you have the location, call an elf to fetch Lucius. You will punish him for failing at the Ministry."

The boy's intent expression went slack with surprise. Severus had been watching closely. For a split second, Potter had looked eager. This was risky, asking him to do this, but if he didn't, then there was a far greater risk at stake. Severus shuddered to think of a teenaged Voldemort with Lily's eyes in charge of Light and Dark forces before the year was out.

"What I'm asking of you is more than any man can ask of another," Severus said gravely. Red eyes widened further. "And yet I am asking. To leave without punishing Lucius wouldn't immediately reveal you, but it would plant seeds of suspicion. You will be missing for at least a month, and the Death Eaters will have that space to gossip and possibly question what has happened. Dissention is the last thing we need in this already unstable situation."

**O**

Harry didn't think he could do it. It was getting harder and harder to push the magic away. It ate at him, and it took everything he had to not rage around the room, hurting Snape until he broke utterly.

Breathe, calm, he knew what it was to face the unfair every day of his life. Between the Dursleys, being a wizard with unreasonable expectations placed on him, to friends who doubted him when he needed them most, he knew how to cope with the unfair. So he struggled, and he maintained a brittle control. Willingly taking up that sweet magic, willingly using it to hurt Lucius Bloody Malfoy, torturer of Dobby and aggressor against Dumbledore, was too much.

"Will you do this," Snape dared to ask, dared to press. "I promise you, after detox it will never be so hard again."

"Fuck. You," Harry said very carefully. "We _nothing_. It's always only _me."_

Snape must have seen he was losing it. He met his eyes and thrust Apparation instructions into his mind. "After Lucius, go there immediately. I'll arrive shortly. Try not to kill him."

"I'll try not to kill _you,"_ Harry snarled. The Legilimency rewoke his anger in a violent way. Snape had raped his mind in those supposed Occlumency lessons again and again. "Crucio," he incanted hungrily.

Oh, _yes_, the smooth slide of destruction caressed his every nerve as he swallowed the gorgeous screams. He pressed harder, wanting them _louder_. He could feel the mind of the hated man beginning to unravel, could feel the precipice of sanity slowly coming closer, the chaotic waters waiting below to swallow Snape whole. Harry had absolute power over the bastard at last. Over his mind, over his body, over his magic. Harry could take them all.

Snape's voice, rising to a desperately high pitch, finally cracked, fell silent, even as his body jerked to Harry's razor sharp strings. Abruptly, he ceased the spell, thrilling in the sight of still twitching limbs, blood gushing almost prettily from nose and ears across pale white skin. He didn't want the git to die too soon. No. He deserved more than that mere taste.

"We're not at Hogwarts, Snape. You can't hurt or mock me anymore. I'm done listening to you. Now you're going to listen to _me."_ Harry knelt and tapped the pale cheek. Warm blood coated his hand. It felt nice. "Are you in there, Snape? Can you hear me?"

A jerky nod was his only answer. The black eyes stared unseeing, tight with strain. Blood beaded in the corners like tears. Beautiful.

"You know what, why should you have all the fun? Malfoy could use a taste of humility, don't you think? He surely loves to hurt house elves. Do you think he'd like _being_ one?"

The idea was brilliant! Harry was so excited that he immediately stood and stalked from the room, Snape forgotten. He grasped the connection to Malfoy gently. He didn't want to warn the sadistic bastard, did he? That would ruin the surprise. The grin stretching his face almost hurt it was so wide.

Harry found Malfoy in an elegant study of glowing wood and gorgeous furniture. Seeing him, the blond knocked his heavy, sturdy chair completely over, he jumped up so fast. The room smelt of expensive alcohol. It made Harry wonder what it'd taste like. He'd only ever had butterbeer. That seemed like a pity.

"My Lord!"

"Malfoy," Harry practically cooed. This was the man who nearly attacked him when he'd been twelve years old. How pathetic. Malfoy should have realized that little boy would grow up to take a shot of his own. "You disgust me."

"Forgive me, my Lord!" Malfoy flung himself around the desk and dropped to his knees.

Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Forgive? Do you really think I should," he asked mockingly. "Would you forgive, Malfoy?"

"M-My Lord…"

"I didn't think so," Harry snarled. "Elf!"

The magic sang around him, flooded his body until he practically arched into it. With a laugh of pure, inhibited glee, he released the tsunami on the pathetic failure of a human being, sweeping the arriving elf up in its wake. The creature collapsed as Malfoy seizured violently.

Harry laughed. Malfoy would now relive the elf's life in his dreams, years being compressed into days. He'd sustain every injury, feel every emotional torment. And it was already starting. Malfoy screamed in anguish as he was branded at birth, as the magic that was fundamental to his very being was enslaved utterly.

"That's for Dobby, you prick," Harry wheezed through his laughter.

A sharp crack as an arm broke filled the room. Harry noticed blood soaking into the carpet at Malfoy's back. Probably whip lashes. Oh this was perfect. However, Malfoy was looking a bit ragged. His breathing was shallow and quick. It'd only been five minutes. At this rate, he'd die long before the spell ended.

"Elf," he called again. One immediately appeared. Such delightful creatures really. Malfoy should take better care of them. "Your Master is dying. Fetch the family Healer or his wife or something."

"Yes, my Lord sir!"

As Harry waited and reveled in the horrible keening, the breaking body, Draco arrived home. Acute, gut-wrenching terror spread ever so clearly across the young man's face as he slid in blood and chunks of once perfect flesh to get to his father's side.

The expression hit Harry like a lightning bolt. The magic slipped away, giving him space to feel horribly ill.

An older man with two women ran into the room. All were Healers, and they flung themselves on Malfoy in desperation. An agonized, tear-streaked face lifted and looked up at him with bitter betrayal. It didn't matter that this was Draco Malfoy. Harry looked into the face of a loving son and hated what he'd done. Hated the cruelty that might horribly kill Malfoy and _had_ killed the innocent elf. He'd almost _killed_ Snape, may have driven him insane.

Harry did the only thing he could. He fled. He ran from the Manor and Apparated to the ramshackle house Snape had shown him. He had nowhere else to go.

He took a single drunken step before collapsing on the filthy bare floor. There he curled into a ball and sobbed wretchedly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he gasped.

He covered his head with his arms, trying to block out the echoes of the screams. And even then, even as he wept and shuddered in disgust, he still felt the warmth that made everything feel so right, and he knew he'd do it again. That his horror would fade, the hunger would grow, and he'd want it back. He was absolutely helpless in the face of this need. It consumed him.

Harry slammed his head on the floor, once, twice, three times. Screaming, he clawed at his arms, hating the goddamn itch! He kicked and beat at the floor until he finally lay exhausted and bruised. Still crying weakly, he fell into a restless slumber, filled with dark hungry eyes that he ran from only to discover they were his own.

**O**

Severus lay dazed as sharp fanged tremors sliced through his body. He listened helplessly as the ghostly echo of Lucius' broken screams drifted up to him. He'd miscalculated badly. Potter wasn't yet used to Dark magic, had no idea how to control it, and Severus had set him loose. In the urgency of the moment, he'd forgotten how _powerful_ the built up animus Potter had for him. Now the boy was probably completely destroyed.

_Oh, Lily,_ he thought mournfully. _I failed to help him. I'm so sorry._

"Severus!"

He moved his head gingerly as his godson ran into the room. Draco was so frantic that he only blinked at the stiffening corpse of his insane aunt.

"Severus, what do you need?"

"Green, yellow potions. Belt," he directed in a whisper, his throat torn from screaming.

Draco retrieved the potions with shaking hands. Severus drank them down quickly. He had several torn muscles, a ruptured eardrum, and suffered heart-strain, if the symptoms were to be believed. Potter had held the curse at such a high level without building up to it that he was lucky he hadn't had a stroke. As it was, it would be an hour before he would be mobile. He had to get to Spinner's End. If Potter had gone there, he wouldn't wait long.

"Father might die! The Dark Lord cursed him and then left without a backwards glance! They can't stop it. Father will have to endure the curse until its end, and who knows how long that might be!"

"I'm sorry, Dragon," Severus said painfully. This was his fault.

"I hate him! He killed Aunt Bell, he hurt you, and my Father…" Draco bowed his head, silent sobs shaking his slender frame.

"Where's your mother?"

"She arrived a moment ago. She made me leave the room. Then an elf told me you and Aunt Bell were here."

"I see."

They fell silent, both lost in their thoughts. Severus was torn. On one hand, Draco hating the Dark Lord was a dream come true. On the other, it might now send him to seek an alliance with the Boy-Who-Lived, who was actually now Voldemort. It seemed Draco was destined to hate Lily's boy no matter what body he resided in. In any case, the difficult position Dark families were in had just become impossible. The Light side now had Voldemort and the Dark another maddened Dark Lord.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"Red one now."

Severus downed the third potion. He could feel them trying to heal the widespread damage. It was very uncomfortable. At least they couldn't hear Lucius anymore. Narcissa probably silenced the room. She always was intelligent.

"It will be okay, Draco. Your family is strong."

The teenager nodded his head. He looked a mess. Severus lifted a hand to squeeze the boy's arm. That hadn't been _too_ excruciating. He'd try sitting up in another few minutes.

"Why did he do this?" Draco asked in a soft, broken voice.

"Bellatrix and your father led a mission at the Ministry. They failed, and it was very important to our Lord."

"What about you?"

"I did not do enough to prevent the Order from moving in too soon," Severus invented easily.

Draco said nothing, brooding.

The hour passed in silence after that.

Severus sat up, every stiff muscle complaining sharply. He quickly swallowed another pain reducer and endurance enhancer. He gave those a few minutes and then used Draco as a crutch to get to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I've been assigned a new mission. I will be gone for many weeks."

Draco looked deeply unhappy at the news. For the millionth time in the boy's life, Severus felt a deep pang of guilt. He never seemed to be there when Draco need him. But he saw no other choice.

"Be careful," the teen said, face pale and drawn.

"You, as well, Dragon," Severus said gently. Then he turned and walked away.

It took him nearly ten minutes just to get out of the manor. He moved like a zombie from a Muggle film. His body needed rest and more healing potions, but he wouldn't get either until he arrived at Spinner's End.

He hadn't dared to honestly hope Potter would be there, but when he found the boy's new form crumpled, asleep on the floor, Severus felt fierce relief. All was not lost then. He moved as quickly as he dared, trying not to make any noise with his uncoordinated body. In a chest that was warded in multiple layers, two vials of magic suppressant sat on velvet. They were leftovers from his own bout of detox a decade ago.

Severus grabbed one and grabbed also a vial of the Draught of Living Dead. He needed time to recover before dealing with the new Dark Lord. The only solution was to put him to sleep until Severus was better prepared to deal with him.

Potter woke slowly, numb with shock or maybe grief. He didn't resist or react when Severus asked him to take the two potions.

Severus sighed as he fell back to sleep. Now he could focus on his own body. In three days time, he'd be ready to cope with the emotional rages, the physical illnesses, and magical fits that would come with detox and withdraw. It was going to be a long, hard, dirty process. Potter may not survive it, but he had surprised Severus by surviving impossible odds in the past. Severus would just have to hope he would do so again.

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort's pleasant mood was beginning to wane.

He'd been surprised when the most disgusting Muggle marched up to him _an hour late _to pick him up from the train, but seeing the Order bodyguards he'd acquired squirm uncomfortably made it worthwhile. Guilt was the easiest emotion to manipulate. And Moody's threatening the lug of a man was certainly entertaining. He happily plotted ways to use the Muggle's fear of the Order all the way to the car.

It wasn't until they reached it that his good mood began to disappear. The Muggle had the audacity to grab him roughly by the arm and practically fling him into the car _after_ making him struggle to stow away his trunk by himself. He scowled, growing angrier by the second as the obese piece of detritus presumed to insult and threaten him.

"You got that, boy? Not a word out of you all summer! I won't have you ruining another holiday with your freakishness! You're lucky I don't just chuck you out on your ear. Those freaks think they can threaten me…"

"Oh, do shut up," he snapped, tired of the droning voice that never seemed to end.

The car swerved as the Muggle slammed on the breaks and pulled the car violently to the side of the road. The man turned around, looming with hate-filled eyes, and Voldemort's heart raced, pumping with adrenaline even as he struggled to keep his expression blank.

"You think I'm joking, you little shite? I've HAD IT with your ghastly school and unnaturalness! I've half a mind to leave you here to rot in the gutter as you deserve, to HELL with the other freaks!"

Voldemort hardly listened to the rest of the diatribe. He was too busy using Legilimency on the bastard. Hate, absolute disgust, and wrath coated grimy memories of a too subdued Harry Potter. There was not nearly enough fear in the Muggle's pathetic mind, and he almost snarled, hands twitching for a wand to put the slug in his place.

He forced himself to calm. He wouldn't allow this worm to destroy his cover. "I'm sorry, sir," he murmured, ducking his head to hide his eyes. The only thing that enabled him to speak those god-awful words was the fact that it wasn't him but Harry Potter who said them.

"You better watch it, freak," Vernon snarled and pulled back into traffic with a blare of his obnoxious horn.

Voldemort sat absolutely still, alternately flushing hot and cold with rage. Potter had grown up with this crap? He couldn't fathom it. It was worse than the orphanage!

"Go to your room, and be quick about it before anyone sees your worthless hide," the fat man practically hissed, spittle on his lips.

Voldemort moved to the front door, hating to leave his school trunk, but at least he had his wand. The room he found at the top of the stairs was just as bad as he feared. Bare, barred, and would fit the requirements of any prison in the world. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the Dursleys, shut away in here.

Bored, he flopped back on the mattress and decided to meditate. Potter's Occlumency shields were abysmal. Not to mention his magical control was sloppy at best. He couldn't use magic, even wandless without setting off alarms, but he could practice collecting and shaping it with his will without being detected.

Hours passed while he was lost in his head. Hunger pulled him out of his trance around lunch time the next day, and he stood. Instantly, he realized he needed to use the toilet as well. Unfortunately, his door was locked from the outside. "Oh, no. We're not playing that game." He lifted a fist and battered the door while screaming, "Hey! HEY!"

"Boy! What do you think you're doing? Stop that racket immediately!"

It was the woman. He'd seen her briefly as he went upstairs yesterday, glaring at him from the kitchen. He had a brief hope that she'd be more reasonable than her husband. "I need to use the loo, and I'm hungry!"

"Use the pail, I'm busy!"

"Look, you miserable hag, I will make your life hell if you don't let me out," he warned, almost slipping into Parseltongue in his fury.

"You can't use your freakishness! You'll be expelled!"

"Who said anything about magic?"

Silence.

Voldemort grinned viciously. Well, he'd warned her. Spinning on his heel, he strode over to the window. The bars prevented him to open it conventionally, but he was a master of the unconventional. He stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his fist before slamming it into the glass, breaking it.

"What was that," the bitch demanded, her hurried footsteps sounding on the stairs.

"I'm sorry," he cried pitifully, allowing his voice to carry through the now empty space. "I'm _sorry!_ Please, I'll be good! I was just so hungry! I haven't eaten in _days!"_

Neighbors looked up from gardens while heads turned as the people walking past on the sidewalk heard his plea. The bedroom door practically flew open, and the woman raced over to the window. Voldemort smirked and moved into the hall while she was busy doing damage control. He used the bathroom and then went down to the kitchen for some much needed nourishment.

"Boy! When Vernon comes home…"

"If he so much as looks at me wrong, what happened up there will be just the beginning," he told her almost pleasantly as he made a large sandwich. "I'll make it so you'll never be able to show your disgusting face in this neighborhood again. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours." She gasped, horrified by the evil looked that overcame his face. "Don't lock my door. Don't talk to me. Don't even think about me, or you'll regret it."

He ignored her as she gasped and sputtered in horrified rage. When he finished his meal, he went back upstairs and shut the door. Then he finally allowed himself to laugh, not caring if she heard. Maybe the Muggles wouldn't be so bad, after all.

**Chapter end.**


	3. Alteration

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. My goal is to update every three or four days, but this chapter grew a bit longer than expected. Hope you like it!

**Alteration**

Harry woke still feeling numb. He said nothing as Snape handed him a big bowl of stew. There was a rickety kitchen table with two chairs, but he didn't have the motivation to stand and walk over there. Instead, he sat on the floor in his corner and drank it slowly. The liquid slowly filled him with warmth, and he set it aside with a sigh only half empty.

"You should eat as much as you can."

Little light came in through the dirty windows, so Snape was half in shadow. Harry used that to convince himself it wasn't Snape – the man he hated, the man he tortured. He was just a dark figure with no name, no history. He didn't want to remember the way Snape shook and screamed, didn't want to remember how _good_ it felt. Harry had never felt as free and powerful as he had in that moment.

_Shite_. He was thinking about it.

Disgusted, he set aside the bowl. This time Snape said nothing, merely took it to the kitchen to put it away after spelling it clean and storing the leftovers. Minutes ticked slowly by, and the heat from the soup wasn't dissipating. Harry shifted uncomfortably, sweat beading on his brow. He pulled at the collar of his robes, his breath coming in fast little pants. He looked to Snape, but the man lingered in the kitchen, presumably to give him space.

_Damn, it's hot in here,_ he thought irritably and glanced at the small grungy window.

Ten minutes later, he couldn't take it. It took all his strength to get the window open, and he was growling and cussing by the time it was done. Sweltering in his robe but not wearing anything underneath, Harry practically hung his head out the window. It wasn't working. He pulled back into the house with a jerky movement, his eyes shooting to Snape.

"Can't you call a breeze or something?"

"It's not hot. The detox has begun," Snape answered softly.

"Bloody hell." Harry began to pace, but he was so hot he soon stopped, the exertion making it worse. He pulled his arms out of the robe, allowing it to hang around his waist. "Can I have some water?"

Snape handed him a little cup.

It was like heaven, filling his mouth with cold. It didn't last long, and he held it out demandingly. "More."

Snape shook his head. "Drinking too much will hurt you."

Harry gritted his teeth. It took conscious effort to set the cup down. He remembered being locked in the cupboard and the unbearable thirst. This was worse. _Hot_. Sweating, panting, cooking from the inside out, Harry broke after an hour and rushed to the kitchen. The taps wouldn't work! Snarling, he turned on Snape, but a barrier kept him three feet away.

"I just want some water, you bastard! What the hell's the matter with you? You're sick! A sadistic arsehole! I should've killed you when I had the chance!"

Exhausted, fists bruised, he moved away. The room dipped and swayed. His tongue felt thick. _Dry, so dry._ He made it to the front door, intending to escape. To find a river. A lake. Hell, the ocean. _Anything_.

Locked. The door was locked. Harry pushed away, moved carefully back to the window. "Out. Need out. Air!" It wouldn't budge. Hadn't it just been open? He was confused and beginning to grow afraid. "Please. Some water. Just a little. I won't drink too much."

"Hush," a gentle voice whispered from the shadows.

Harry squinted through the heat waves, but he couldn't see anyone. Had the cupboard gotten bigger? Where were his glasses? "Please, Aunt Petunia. Some water, please, I'll be good."

"Rest. Sit down, Potter. Conserve your strength."

He wasn't in his cupboard; he was at Grimmauld Place! He moved to the cot sitting against the far wall and sat obediently. Was the stove on? "Dinner's going to burn, Sirius," He warned, voice slurring.

"You're sick. Just rest."

"Okay." Harry lay down. Then the walls began to melt.

He sat up again with a gasp of terror. A strong hand pressed him back. Murmuring, soothing, a voice spoke to him, calmed him. Harry held tight to that wrist, knowing they were about to be crushed. Something cool and wet slid across his forehead, and he babbled about spiders and deadly ceilings, the words confused.

Without warning, he was puking. His whole body convulsing with the deep spasms. Acid in his chest, throat, nose. He couldn't stop. He couldn't breathe. His body ached and strained. Then blessed unconsciousness swept him away.

**xXxXxXx**

Petunia must have indeed spoken to her husband. Over the next three weeks, the Dursleys very carefully stayed out of his way. The woman and boy's fear was extremely amusing, but he was very aware of the hate-filled eyes of the Muggle man. Voldemort almost wished he'd do something. He was getting bored.

Unfortunately, his rash wish was about to come true.

Voldemort made a sudden breakthrough with organizing his mind and taming Potter's power. With a triumphant grin, he sat up, only to slump back as a vicious dizzy spell washed through him. He was ravenous, but a glance out the window told him it was dinner time. If he went down now, he'd be forced to speak to the wretched Muggles. Another dizzy spell came. Voldemort stood carefully and moved downstairs. He wouldn't wait. Not when he needed food so badly.

As expected, the Dursleys sat around the kitchen table, stuffing their gobs. He had no intention to eat with the Neanderthals. Instead, he grabbed a plate and began to fill it, planning on taking it back up to his room. The baked chicken and potatoes smelled heavenly. Eager and distracted, he didn't notice the weak simile of a smirk that came over the fat boy's face. He did notice when a meaty hand hit the bottom of his plate and sent it crashing to the floor.

Voldemort stared hard at the boy until Dudley paled and shrank back. Obviously he had forgotten just who he was dealing with. Vernon seemed to be in the process of forgetting as well. The man turned a horrid dark purple, completely ignoring the frantic whispers of his wife.

"You little freak!" Vernon bellowed. "Did I say you could come down? Clean up this mess immediately! Or I'll get down the belt!"

Voldemort snapped. He'd had enough of this bastard. It sickened him that his enemy, the one he marked as his _equal_, had to put up with this utter shite. It was time to get even. With an evil glower, he moved to the cupboards, but he didn't grab the cleaning supplies. Instead, he grabbed a stack of fine china. He flung the first at the wall. It shattered with a deliciously loud crash. Petunia shrieked, Vernon roared incoherently, and Dudley gaped in utter shock.

Voldemort yelled over all of them, his voice high and clear. "Oh _god!_ Don't! I'm sorry!" He flung another plate and Vernon ran at him crazed. He easily dodged and the fat man hit the wall with a resounding crash. "Please! I won't do it again!"

Again Vernon hit a wall. Voldemort laughed. This was fun! He threw another plate, this time at the kitchen window, shattering one and cracking another. Petunia began to shriek, "Stop! Stop!" Vernon's massive bulk hit a wall for a third time, sending the pictures hanging on the other side crashing to the ground.

"So you're fat, slow, and _stupid_," Voldemort mocked the enraged man.

"Grab him, Dudley!" Vernon easily tossed his desperate wife aside. She hit the table and more dishes were flung to the floor.

Voldemort screamed bloody murder, pleas lacing the horrific sound, all the while a mocking smile twisted his lips and his green eyes sparkled. As he moved around the lumbering males, he watched the clock. After twenty minutes, he allowed Dudley to grab him from behind. Vernon struck him across the face, sending his glasses flying.

A second blow. Stars exploded behind his eyes, his neck spasmed with the brutal force. Waves of dizziness crashed over him, and he had to claw his way back to consciousness. Passing out was not part of the plan. A fist crashed into his stomach, and the dizziness turned violently into vomiting. Bile and blood from his lips spattered the floor. Sharp pain tore at his shoulders as Dudley held tight, and he gasped and groaned.

Thankfully, the police finally arrived. Petunia was on the floor, crying and screaming for them to be quiet. Vernon was still screaming hateful words as he battered him. The police jumped him instantly. It took both to wrestle the beast of a man into handcuffs and outside to the waiting car. Voldemort sank to the floor, released by a horrified Dudley. Petunia raced to her son, knowing they'd be back to arrest him, too.

"Testify against your husband and I'll spare your child," Voldemort offered.

Petunia stared at him as if he were some demon, utterly terrified and helpless against his power. He smiled, revealing blood-coated teeth. Dudley sputtered, wanting to know what was happening. Finally, she nodded. The police returned. One headed for Dudley, the other crouched in front of Voldemort. Dudley squeaked and began to cry fearfully as his hands were cuffed behind him. It looked rather painful for the obese boy.

"I'm okay," Voldemort said weakly as he was helped into a chair. He looked at the one holding Dudley. "It wasn't my cousin's fault. He didn't want to hurt me. He helps as much as he can, but if he didn't do what his father said it'd be worse for both of us. Please let my cousin go! He helped me so much!"

The officers shared a look, obviously unwilling to upset him further, and released Dudley. Petunia held her son, sobbing into his shoulder and making sure Dudley didn't say anything unfortunate that would get him arrested despite Voldemort's plea. Thankfully, the fat boy was too shocked to string a sentence together and he was safe.

Two days later, Voldemort was released from the hospital with cracked ribs, whiplash, and a fractured cheekbone. He had strict orders to rest. Voldemort indeed rested. Petunia waited on him hand and foot. If he grew displeased, he could always change his mind about Dudley and have him put in jail for life, too. He never grew bored with her simpering. It was all the more delicious for how much she hated to do it.

However, as the week passed, he realized that he may have created a problem. The bitch wouldn't say anything against him for fear of Dudley, but that didn't mean she wouldn't give him away when Dumbledore came for him. They were Muggles, thankfully. That meant they couldn't be Legilimized, which was an internal magic and didn't work without inherent magic. However, Dumbledore would question her, and he had the ability to tell when someone lied. Since this was external magic, which could affect all physical matter, it would work on Muggles.

Hmmm…. He'd have to have a "talk" with Petunia. Explain to her what she should say and train her to avoid any outright lies. An evil smile spread across his face as he rubbed his hands together in glee. His fun wasn't over yet.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry crouched, glaring malevolently. He scratched idly at his itchy arms, tearing at scabs and open sores. Time had lost all meaning. Lucidity came and went as he vacillated between night terrors and physical agony. _Sick_, a deep pervading sickness that went bone-deep. He ached, his skin felt too tight and dry. He had no energy for anything anymore except the essentials. And he had hate. It was the only thing that kept him from lying listlessly, hopelessly in this hell.

_Snape_ stood in the kitchen, brewing more potions he'd inevitably force down Harry's throat. He wanted _out_. He needed his _magic_. Attacking the man had earned him nothing but bruises. He had to be smarter. He'd escape, and then Snape had better _run_. Harry wouldn't stop this time. He wouldn't let him go to suffer again later. He'd kill Snape.

_Hate him, hate him, hate him,_ the chant ran endlessly through his mind as he watched his prey through smoldering red eyes.

**xXxXxXx**

Dumbledore arrived one month into summer expecting to have another unpleasant encounter with the Dursleys. Instead, he found a more oppressive air than usual hovering over number four Privet Drive. He hurried up the steps and knocked on the door. Harry opened it a moment later and Dumbledore gasped at his appearance. The teen's face was swollen and horribly bruised on the left side, the eye almost completely swollen shut. A fading green and yellow bruise marred the right side of his jaw and the way he held his chest foreboded an injury there as well.

"My boy, what happened?"

"You should come in, sir," Harry answered, shoulders slumped and eyes on the floor.

Dumbledore sat down in the sitting room, horror growing in his gut as he listened to Harry's short tale, detailing Vernon's arrest one week ago and the two days Harry spent in the hospital. He'd known the Dursleys were a miserable sort, but he never imagined it would escalate to physical violence. He wondered if Harry would ever be able to forgive him.

"I'd like to speak to your aunt, if I may? She has some explaining to do."

Saying nothing, Harry got up and left the room, the whole time hiding his eyes. Dumbledore tugged unhappily at his beard. He'd made one mistake too many with the child. First his silence and seeming abandonment last year, added to the fact he'd been unable to save Sirius, and now this.

Petunia entered. She looked frail and terrified. "I couldn't stop him. And I told you we didn't want the boy back."

"I'm sure you couldn't," Dumbledore answered, thinking the exact opposite. "Have a seat and tell me what happened."

"Vernon snapped. He couldn't deal with it anymore. Every year you forced us to take the boy back. Threats and freakishness. He just snapped," she answered, wringing her hands. "Please, just take the boy and go."

"Very well," Dumbledore stood, heavy with guilt, and moved to the stairs. Slowly he climbed, only to stop at a door with ten different locks. The Order had reported this last summer, but seeing it had a stronger impact. He opened the door to find Harry standing at the window, shoulders still slumped. "Let's go, dear boy."

Harry had already packed his few things and he passed them over to Dumbledore to be shrunk and stowed. "Where are we going?" he asked dully.

"We have one errand to run, and then I'll take you to where you'll be staying the summer." Dumbledore only hoped it would be enough to win back some little trust. "I believe you will be quite happy with the location."

**O**

"Harry! We've miss – " Hermione came running downstairs but froze on the bottom step. "What happened?" Her wide eyes took in his horribly battered face.

"Bloody hell…" Ron gasped, stopping behind his girlfriend.

Voldemort ducked his head as if in embarrassment. Really he needed to hide his smile. Causing emotional distress was so much fun. "Hey, guys," he said softly.

"Come, Harry. I'm sure Molly can set you to rights," Dumbledore murmured gently, reaching for his shoulder.

Voldemort sidestepped the touch and had to bite his lip to keep glee from his expression as the old fool's face filled with hurt. Dumbledore's obvious anguish was magnificent.

A little while later, he couldn't help but feel the bastard had gotten him back. His bruises and the consistent pain were almost gone after Molly applied ointment, but he was still about to kill the smothering witch. Sure, watching Molly Weasley chew out her beloved leader had been amusing, but he hated to be treated as if he were a fragile toddler.

He marched upstairs and scowled at the two Gryffindors who leapt to their feet as soon as he entered the room. Voldemort almost turned around. The Burrow was horrid, but this room was worse yet! Orange, Quidditch obsessed, and filled with worn hand-me-downs.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione demanded again.

He ignored her. Instead, he unpacked his things and unshrunk them. They were allowed to do minor magic in the house without alerting the Ministry. That was his only consolation. He could feel their demanding eyes scouring his back and he snapped. Spinning around with a ferocious glare, he spat, "Leave me alone."

"What did we do?" Ron demanded, face going red.

"It's not what you did; it's what you didn't do. You want to know why I'm hurt? My uncle almost beat me to death. He was arrested, and I had to spend two days in a Muggle hospital when Wizarding treatment would have healed me much quicker and without inflicting more pain." The two teens looked absolutely stricken. Voldemort swelled with pleasure. "That's right! Muggle strangers cared more about me than you did! They actually got Vernon away from me, but you never helped when I tried to tell Dumbledore I couldn't go back there!"

Hermione was crying by this point. "Harry, I…"

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

Voldemort stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him. Smiling, he went out to the backyard to be alone and think. His little stunt would gain him a few days of freedom from everyone breathing down his neck. Another positive effect of his provoking Vernon; the pain had been well worth it. Still, not everything was perfect. He needed to think.

Whatever Dumbledore was up to with Slughorn couldn't be good. He'd have to keep a sharp eye on that. And being in a house full of blood traitors was sure to test his acting ability. He had to be careful not to blow his cover as Potter. Hopefully any mistakes on his part will be attributed to his grief over Sirius and the abuse he suffered this summer.

"Dinner!" Molly's shrill call echoed over the grounds and he winced.

Sighing, he pulled his "Harry" mask back on and returned to the Burrow, still bitter about being brought here instead of to the Order's headquarters. He'd been looking forward to finally seeing the place. Still, he'd have to make due. It was going to be a long two months. He couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.

**xXxXxXx**

Detox took almost ten weeks despite everything Snape could do to speed it up. Harry was now skeletal, barely more than skin and bones. Ointment glistened in patches on his ruptured skin, soothing what remained of his weeping sores, scratches, and bruises. Across this field of physical devastation, there was evidence of his hard-won victory. Black hair stubbled his once bald head and began to outline long eyebrows. His skin was less waxy, suppler, while a faint hint of pink suffused the once corpse-grey color.

He'd been stripped bare. He'd suffered in every way there was to suffer. But he had survived. Everything had burned away except the very core of who he was, but he had survived. Glorious Dark magic swirled and spun around him, filling him when for so long he'd been empty. It no longer had claws that itched under his skin. It slid smoothly, gracefully, tamed to his mind completely.

Red eyes shifted from the small dirty window he sat quietly next to as Snape entered the room. Snape was lucky the magic obeyed him and no longer whispered in his ear. He still wanted to destroy the man for everything that had happened.

"My Lord," the man murmured, obviously not wanting to trigger Harry's temper.

He felt conflicted about Snape. The man had done what he had to help him, but a lingering sense of rage and hate overshadowed rational thought. He had not left Harry's side unless it was to brew more potions. He had nursed him as he vomited, as his bowels released uncontrollably, as he bled and screamed. He let Harry place his head in his lap as he wept. He soothed him through nightmare hallucinations, and he didn't abandon him when Harry attacked with fists and bared teeth, hate and fury driving him into madness.

But he had also kept him here, trapped in pure hell. He had witnessed Harry's utter humiliation, his utter helplessness. Snape could have ended it if he'd wanted. Could have killed Harry and released him from the unbearable pain, and he hadn't. Instead he denied him again and again. Harry was glad Snape was leaving for Hogwarts. He didn't want him around, couldn't stand looking at the man.

"What have you learned?"

"The Ministry acknowledges Voldemort's return despite all Lucius' efforts at damage control. Though he did manage to keep all the Death Eaters free of Azkaban. Albus has granted me the Defense position. I do not yet know who he has hired as Potions professor. I'm more concerned with the wound he has suffered." Severus bowed his head. "He is doing what he can and I'll make potions, but I don't think it can be healed."

Harry sighed sadly. The Headmaster was still fighting, even though there'd been no new activity from the Death Eaters. "Voldemort?"

"He took him to the Burrow."

Harry frowned at him.

"I know." Severus lowered his eyes. "I still insist they will be safe. Voldemort cannot attack without dire consequences. And it is preferable to him being taken to Headquarters. Apparently, Vernon Dursley was arrested for child abuse over the summer. The pretender arrived at the Burrow quite battered."

Harry looked out the window thoughtfully. The Dursleys rarely tried to hit him. They detested him, hated to touch him. But Vernon occasionally grew angry enough to lash out. What had Voldemort done to get that to happen? It seemed suspicious that he hadn't defended himself. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Snape's voice.

"On a lighter note, Lucius survived. I was not allowed to see him, but Draco informed me his father has been changed. He would not tell me how. My skill is Occlumency, not Legilimency. He would sense my taking any information."

Harry snorted, smiling wryly. Yes, he was intimately aware of the brute force of Snape's Legilimency. "The Headmaster still doesn't suspect?"

"No. Due to the Dark Mark, I cannot relate information you tell me directly. Albus has gotten good at interpreting my advice not go to certain places, or to watch certain people. Sometimes I'll overhear other Death Eaters speaking of a raid or plans. Those I can relate clearly. I've tried to warn him about the pretender, advised him I felt uncomfortable, that the boy is dangerous, but he brushes my words off as my old animus."

"I could tell him myself," Harry suggested.

"I don't think it will work, my Lord. Any letter you send will be in Voldemort's handwriting, imprinted with Dark magic from your aura. Furthermore, how will you explain not informing him immediately? No, Albus would see it as a trap or trick to get him to abandon Harry Potter, so you could kill the boy more easily."

"And to switch us back I'd have to kidnap my body and possess him, thus proving I am evil Lord Voldemort." Harry tilted his head to rest against the warm glass. "I've been thinking. Maybe it's good what happened. Maybe I shouldn't rush to go back to being Harry Potter. I have Voldemort's forces. I can stop the war like this, even if no one knows it's over."

"Ending the battle completely is not possible. The Death Eaters wouldn't accept it. They are fighting for reasons they believe in."

"Why?" Harry looked at Snape curiously. For the first time since they began talking, he met the dark eyes.

"The Light has always sought to eradicate the teachings of the Dark, to suppress those who are called to its power. This cannot be borne. Dark wizards will not allow this oppression of who we are to last much longer."

Harry tilted his head, thinking. At first, he'd been afraid of the Dark. It was the cause of his suffering, but throughout the last two days, Snape had taught him it was nothing to fear. It was like a chaotic thunderstorm, capable of destruction but possessing a majestic beauty if respected. Dark magic wasn't intrinsically evil. Sometimes it was necessary to destroy in order to build anew. Destruction was as natural as creation.

Harry understood this. His life had been destroyed with the death of his parents, and he'd suffered at the Dursley's. But it had built him into someone who could survive the burden placed on him at eleven years of age. And again, his life was destroyed, body and life stolen in one moment. He'd been thrown down, suffered unimaginably, and had come out the other end as someone new, someone stronger.

Snape spoke, drawing his attention. "The two sides can't be reconciled. They are each other's opposites in every way. Usually a balance of power keeps them from war, but the balance has tipped too far in the Light's favor. Thus more wizards are being called to the Dark and granted above average power with which to rise and reassert the balance."

"So it's not about Muggleborns?" Harry demanded.

"The problem lies in Muggle culture and customs, not so much their magic. They see the Wizarding world as backwards and old fashioned. They promote progress and degrade centuries of tradition and symbolism, professing that the Pureblood ways should be abolished because it's exclusionary. They don't realize the traditions are there for a reason. Magic empowers wizards. In turn, we empower magic. It is a symbiotic relationship. Dark wizards fear that just as it was in ancient times, before Merlin worked the great change, magic will return to the creatures and wild woods, and wizards will be blind to it once more."

Harry stared, stunned, both by the explanation and by Snape's quiet passion. "The Light doesn't care?"

"The Light and Dark disagree over the best solution. Instead of returning to the old ways, the Light campaigns to reintroduce Wizards to the Muggles. They want to have wizard-kind become the priests and priestesses of society. They want the Muggle masses to add their faith and belief to the rituals and traditions that tame magic in return for guidance, protection, and miracles."

"Sounds like something the Dark would want, not the Light. Becoming powerful vassals to 'gods' and lording it over hundreds of Muggles," Harry murmured with confusion.

Snape shook his head. "The Dark has no desire to serve the world, no desire to save it from destruction. They know it is futile. The world moves in cycles. The time when humans face near annihilation is coming. The Light wants to stand this off. It always does, but it is not meant to be. It is unfortunate but necessary for the world to be periodically cleansed. After will be the time of renewal and regrowth. The Light sees the death and the increasing desperation of the Muggles and wants to interfere."

Harry turned his face to the window again, torn. It was a difficult thing. He felt compassion. He didn't want others to suffer, but he agreed in principle with Snape, even if it galled him to do so. Magic had no place in the Muggle world right now. They wouldn't worship; they would fear. Yes, save those you could, save what you could, but it was sheer arrogance to think any one group could save the whole world.

He knew more intimately than ever before that pain and fear were necessary. They taught you, remade you, and revealed great truths as much as love and joy did. Suffering was a part of being human. To reject it was to stop _being_ human. See what refusing pain and death had done to Voldemort! Could the Light not see that? They needed to save themselves, save magic, not save the Muggles. That was out of their hands, as it should be. No one should be that powerful. They had no right to play god, magic or not.

Harry felt the Dark magic in him swell, pleased with his agreement. "Why haven't I heard all this before?"

"Few are called by Light or Dark magic. Most are neutral as I've said. Dumbledore is a Light Lord and leads those few dozen who are called to use Light magic specifically. They have taken advantage of the instability in the Dark forces to sway those neutral to their side. As is their way, they have not revealed to the masses the end goal. They instead direct their attention to oppressing the Dark, who would check them. They claim this allows things to 'unfold naturally', regardless that the situation never would have done so without their influence."

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "I need to think about all this. Leave things as they are for now. Tell no one who I am, but continue to encourage Dumbledore not to trust the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I need to take information from your mind. I need Riddle Manor's location and a feel for how Voldemort acts toward his followers. Do not shield."

"Very well," Snape bowed his head without a hint of mockery, granting his consent.

"Look at me."

Snape did, holding Harry's eyes evenly.

Harry easily pulled at the magic always eddying around him. The sweet rush of power, of enjoyment in his baser desires, tried to overwhelm him, but Harry used Snape's teachings to keep a steady head. He rode the Dark effects of his magic without either fighting or submitting. It was a complicated balance.

Keeping his mind centered and focused, he directed the magic into the other wizard's mind. He accessed only as much of Snape's memories as he needed, ignoring the siren call of 'more, take more'. Thoughts molded and ordered in a distinctively 'Severus' way swept through him, memories flowed and leapt. It was over in less than three minutes.

"Thank you."

Snape nodded, undisturbed, which only emphasized the change in their relationship. Last year the man had gone ballistic over the glimpse Harry had of his Pensieve. This had been twice as intimate and Snape hadn't even flinched.

A rush of confusion, gratitude, and hate made him look away. "Come to Riddle Manor if you have news. Otherwise, I'll call if I need you."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said again.

Harry clasped his elbows, his back resolutely turned so he wouldn't have to watch Snape leave. As uncomfortable as he was, as glad as he was to have the man finally _gone_, he also felt afraid. Without his guidance, he was alone and his mind was a mess. He had no idea what to think, what to do. The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted to preserve magic. He knew the Dark and Light wouldn't stop fighting, but how could he pick a side when both were right… and both wrong? He needed more information.

With a nod of his head, Harry made a possibly reckless decision. He Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

He'd never gotten a good look at the old mansion. Now, in the light of day, he could see the beauty, the historical pieces on display, and the tapestries woven to tell stories by Malfoys long gone. The Manor suddenly represented all he wanted to protect. He could see the symbols and metaphors, the old ways, brought to life in every room.

As he toured the elegant mansion, he became aware of the empty bedrooms. The manor was built to house many, but now there were only three Malfoys left.

"My Lord."

The faint voice had him turning. Narcissa stood in a doorway to a sunroom. Her fair hair shone in the light, cascading to her hips. _Sirius' cousin,_ he remembered as familiar blue eyes glanced up at him. The woman tensed, fear radiating from her. His magic stirred uneasily. This wasn't right. Dark wizards shouldn't fear him.

"Where is Lucius?"

Narcissa paled further and her hands fluttered fearfully over her chest. "He is resting, my Lord."

"Wake him. Bring him to me. I shall wait here." Harry moved forward.

She instinctively stepped aside, allowing him into the room behind her. "My Lord, there is a more comfortable room," she said almost frantically.

Harry took in the glass dome ceiling, marble floor, art supplies and easels. Draco Malfoy, sixteen years old, stood at one, still as a statue, grey eyes wide and afraid. Blue paint smeared one cheek. Narcissa was obviously terrified to leave her son with him. "I will not harm your son," he reassured in a low voice. Still, she hesitated. Harry did not want to push her. "Have an elf summon Lucius then."

"Yes, my Lord," she answered in relief.

After it was done, she moved to stand close to her only child. Draco still did not move or blink. Harry gently brushed the surface of his thoughts and winced at the memories of his father's suffering. Draco's hate was understandable, but Harry could not allow it to grow or fester more than it already had.

Lucius came into the room, a shadow of his former self. He looked much the way Harry did… Scraped raw. Without a word, the once proud man sank to his knees. Draco's hands fisted, while Narcissa quickly put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Do you still serve me, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord." The answer was monotone.

"Look at me."

Gently, Harry searched out his beliefs…

In the beginning, Merlin tamed magic to human hands through rituals and symbols invested with meaning. Without these rituals binding magic to human understanding, magic would return to its once wild state. Of the Dark traditional bloodlines, many were gone or had no Heirs. The Light fared better, but whole families like the Weasleys had abandoned the old ways. Lucius resigned himself that the end of magic had come. Wizarding-kind would be no more within a few short generations.

The grief this realization caused the man was staggering, and Harry pulled away quickly before he could be brought to tears. "What did you learn from your punishment?"

Draco tried to yank away from his mother with a sharp movement, rage on his face, but Narcissa held him fast, silencing him with a wandless charm.

"I learned not to fail you, my Lord." His voice never wavered, blank and empty as his eyes.

"I had hoped you learned more than that," Harry said softly. "It was an example of how we both have been given to excess lately."

Lucius' eyes widened, flickering with some emotion.

"Are you still mine, Lord Malfoy?"

"I am…" Lucius was hardly breathing.

"You will hold this secret dear, Lucius. As will your family."

"Yes, my Lord. We are yours."

The room was completely still. Even the Dark seemed to hold its breath as Harry made his decision. He bowed his head and decided. He would commit to the Dark, thus forsaking who he once was. In Snape's memory, he had seen the charismatic Tom Riddle before the Dark addiction. The same desperately needed leader was in Lucius' thoughts. The least Harry could do for them, and for magic, would be to fulfill those fragile dreams.

"You discovered your addiction while recovering," he stated. "Did you detox fully?"

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius tensed as if to receive a blow.

"I made a similar recovery," Harry admitted.

Lucius gasped near silently, hope flaring through the charred ashes of his broken spirit.

Harry granted him a moment to recover and turned to face his once archenemy. "Do you practice the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy?"

Narcissa looked frantic for her son, but she didn't interfere. Good.

"Yes, Lord Voldemort." Draco bowed his head, hiding his features.

Harry smiled. Draco thought he was so clever, but it was obvious he had purposefully avoided saying 'my Lord'. Lucius made to stand, to reprimand or possibly shield his son, but Harry stilled him with a sharp gesture. "Do you uphold the old ways? Do you know the dangers of the Dark you seek?"

Draco answered yes but as he looked up Harry saw he did not know the risk of addiction. He had not used enough to become addicted yet. His parents had protected him. But in a few years they wouldn't have been able to do so, and Draco would have been lost.

Harry looked to Narcissa and read in her eyes that they had been forbidden to speak of addiction to anyone, even their children. Voldemort did not believe in such nonsense. He looked down on Lucius solemnly. "You have lessons to teach your son."

Fierce relief struck through the man like lightning, making him almost glow. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I will need your help cleansing the rest of my followers."

"I will gladly help, my Lord."

Harry nodded. "I need your help in another matter as well, Lucius. I am saddened by the reduction of noble Dark families. I worry greatly that those who honor the ancient traditions will be gone by wars' end. I need fighters, but I also need each family to produce children whose purpose is remembering."

Narcissa made a small sound, and Harry glanced at her. This was her greatest desire. To have more children. She had always wanted a large family and bitterly envied the Weasleys. The reason they hadn't had more than Draco was due to an infertility curse placed on all the Death Eater wives. Voldemort thrilled in being able to control who had children and when. He also feared a child being born who could match and challenge his power.

"I will remove the curse if you will promise me to fill these halls once again," Harry told her, eyes glowing happily.

"Yes. Oh, yes, my Lord, please." She left Draco's side and knelt beside her husband.

Harry nodded and touched her head. Magic rushed through him, down his arm, and gathered the remnants of itself back into the main current grounded in his body. She cried out in pleasure, back arching, cheeks flushed. Harry did not let her obvious beauty distract him, nor did he surrender to the pull of the magic to make physical the intimate connection that temporarily encircled them. She was not his to touch.

"Mother!" Draco raced to Narcissa's side as she collapsed to her hands and knees. He glared fiercely at Harry, his hand clutching his wand.

"Draco!" Lucius barked, the old authority cracking in his voice.

His son jumped and instantly lowered his head, though nothing changed in his expression.

Harry met Lucius' gaze. This must be addressed. Lucius nodded, acknowledging the problem and promising to fix it.

Narcissa rose to her knees and reached for his hand. He allowed it. Soft lips pressed into his palm in deep gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I want to hear good news by Halloween, Narcissa Malfoy."

"Yes, my Lord," she answered with a big smile.

"Good. Bring me the other Dark wives in a week. You may have until September 1st when Draco leaves for Hogwarts before attending me. I will entrust them with the same charge."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"Lucius. Come to me with your wife. After I deal with the women, we shall make plans."

"It will be as you command, my Lord."

Harry looked into all three pairs of eyes once more before departing, the long black robe barrowed from Severus swirling elegantly around his legs. His expression never wavered until after he Apparated away. Then he allowed his face to crumple.

This year he would have turned sixteen. He would have been Draco's peer. Sure, he would've been the Light's pawn, Boy-Who-Lived, but he would've been given the chance to laugh and play, to have friends, to fall in love. Maybe he would have had a wife of his own and even children one day. A real family.

Now that was all gone. He had no time to devote to love, even if someone could be found who would accept his new body. He was a Lord. A leader. Never a friend. Not anymore. His decision separated him forever from Hermione, from Ron and the Weasleys, from Remus.

Tears gathered behind his lids and no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, they still escaped, gently falling down the strange face he had just made his own.

**Chapter end.** _Review please!_ ;)


	4. Introspection

**A/N: **Sorry this is late. I was ready to post it two days ago, but at the last moment I decided to rewrite a good portion. I think it's much better now. Not a lot of action or dialogue in this part, but a lot of interesting stuff is happening for some of the characters. Let me know what you think!

**Introspection**

His experiences over the summer had shaken Draco. For the first time, he doubted his parents. As he was growing up, the few times he'd heard his father speak about the Dark Lord it was in reverent tones. His mother refused to speak about it at all. It was mysterious and exciting. Draco had pictured a powerful Slytherin, like his father but bigger and stronger.

After he started going to Hogwarts, he'd heard other views on the Dark Lord, but he'd thought Slytherins were special. They got to see the truth. Their views weren't tainted by stupid fear. His father became strange and intense at times, but mostly Draco gloated about the power of the Dark Lord and how favored the Malfoy's were. But now he'd met this same Dark Lord for himself.

A Dark Lord who'd nearly killed his father and _had_ killed Aunt Bellatrix. A Dark Lord who'd _tortured_ Severus. A Dark Lord who made his parents kneel like slaves in their own manor.

It was intolerable! The new edicts his mother had explained to him were even more distressing. The Dark Lord seemed to be obsessed with enlarging his numbers. He was forcing every Death Eater wife to have children. Those without wives were ordered to get married as soon as possible.

Snidely, he'd asked, "Will he pick out spouses if we don't choose quick enough to please him?" And his mother had _slapped_ him.

He'd thought his mother would be on his side. She'd been subtly encouraging him away from the Dark Lord for two years. Now the man said she could have more children and all was forgiven! Draco didn't understand what was so great about it. He didn't want brothers or sisters. He was Heir! What did they want more kids for, anyway?

Draco spent the last week of summer raging in his mind until he about screamed with it. No one would tell him what to do! Not anymore. He was no longer a child to follow blindly. In the end, his parents would see Draco was right about the Dark Lord. He was going to be the perfect Slytherin and choose the winning side.

With this in mind, Draco went to the library the first night back to Hogwarts, knowing a certain someone had been seen studying in dark corners. "Potter. Can I talk to you?"

**O**

Voldemort played the reluctantly willing Boy Hero perfectly as he listened to Draco Malfoy plead his case. The boy wouldn't share specific information about his family, but a subtle sweep of Legilimency told him everything he needed to know.

He almost couldn't contain his laughter. Poor Lucius, victimized by a maddened Potter who was dominated by a horrible addiction. Bella's death pissed him off, but he soothed himself with the image of Potter suffering indescribable torment during detox. He couldn't believe the blasted boy had survived it. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Potter was as immortal as he himself was.

Still, it was interesting. Why would Potter order the Death Eaters to conceive? Voldemort felt amused. It wouldn't help the boy, whatever his feeble plan. The children would be worthless for another fifteen years at least. He planned to have control of the Wizarding world long before then.

"Okay, Malfoy. I'll give you a chance, but if you betray me…"

"You'll learn you can trust me," the Malfoy Heir responded with a relieved smile.

He felt a flush of sweet arousal as he gazed on that young expression. Draco was handsome and naïve; a glorious combination. He'd be easy to seduce. Smiling, Voldemort stuck out his hand. "Friends, then."

The boy took it readily. "Friends."

He held on a little longer than necessary, allowing his fingers to slide sensually against the blond's palm, and Draco shivered. Voldemort smiled innocently back._ Ah, to be sixteen again. It's wonderful._

**xXxXxXx**

Harry sat on his throne, hands loosely clasping the end of the snake-head armrests. Lucius knelt on one knee, wand hand clasping the Dark Mark – a gesture that said his magic was Harry's to command. They'd been brewing potions for a week. Now they were ready to set their plans into motion.

The soft pops of Apparation filled the dimly lit ballroom as the Death Eaters answered the summons. The air vibrated with anticipation. No doubt when their wives were brought to him, they had feared they would never see the women again. The fact that they'd been returned evidently unharmed had amazed and baffled.

(Harry had asked the wives to keep secret the fact that the infertility curse had been lifted. He wanted it to be a surprise when the women told their husbands they were pregnant. They had gleefully agreed.)

The last Death Eater arrived, making the group number twenty-four.

He'd been surprised when he'd learned from Lucius' mind that the Death Eaters were such a small group. Twenty-six. The number of Voldemort's forces, the group of powerful wizards that struck terror into the hearts of many numbered only twenty-six. And twenty-four now knelt in submission before him: Severus had been excused; Karkaroff was in hiding.

Twenty-three men, one woman – who'd been allowed the Mark due to being incurably barren… It didn't seem like a lot, but well-trained power filled the room, as deep and resonating as the ocean. A single Death Eater could wreak as much destruction in the span of five minutes as seven civilian wizards combined. And possibly as much damage as a dozen Muggles outfitted with whatever weapon they could carry. Not to mention the family connections and social webs that extended from each individual. Voldemort tended to only mark one or two representatives of a family, but when that person was marked, they pledged the support of a good majority of that bloodline.

"I've been dissatisfied with the efficiency of my followers of late," Harry spoke into the tense silence. "You will each be tested. Those who fail will be corrected. Lucius, bring the first."

A slender man was guided forward, and Lucius quickly backed away.

Harry pulled a Dark curtain around the throne, shutting everyone but the two of them out. "Lower your mask and hood."

A tan, round face was revealed. Wavy dark locks falling to black robes shoulders held dark red highlights. Eyes wary and almost as dark as Severus' met his own briefly before glancing down submissively. Morgan Selwyn. In his late forties. Afraid, powerful, addicted. Harry could tell by the way the dark eyes flared with need when he flared his now Dark magic.

"Catch."

Selwyn caught the marble reflexively and was portkeyed into one of the cells Harry had prepared for those who would need to detox.

An hour later, Harry had sixteen of his followers locked in the dungeon, leaving seven free. Atticus Avery and Crispin Lestrange were the fathers of Ayden Avery and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Both were in their early seventies, having gone to Hogwarts with Tom Riddle, and both were anxious for their sons who had seemingly disappeared after 'failing' the test.

Caiden Rosier, in his mid-sixties, stood more calmly. His only son, Evan Rosier, had been killed last year while working some Dark magic, made careless by his addiction. Caiden was broken and silent inside with his grief. Sebastian Nott was Caiden's peer. He stood tense and anxious. He'd had a son late in life, Theodore Nott, who was currently a sixth year Slytherin. He feared what would become of his son under the Dark Lord's hand.

Fenrir Greyback was not a wizard, only an insane Muggle werewolf, and thus could not be addicted.

Two others had escaped addiction: Amycus Carrow, whose older sister – the last remaining female Death Eater – was in a dungeon cell, and Peter Pettigrew. Both were weak and feared the Dark Arts at some level, which had saved them.

Lucius, of course, had already detoxed.

Harry met each of their eyes. He'd prepared this speech days ago, taking bits and pieces from remembered speeches given by Tom Riddle. He hoped it worked. "Weakness has pervaded those missing. I will see them strong enough to serve me again. I will no longer tolerate failure. We will remember who we are! We will remember the old ways! We are Death Eaters! We scoff at death because we will forever exist within our traditions! Traditions that will span all eternity!"

Avery and Lestrange – No, he should call them by their first names, the way Voldemort would. – _Atticus_ and _Crispin_ stared with a hungry hope burning in their eyes, while Sebastian clenched his fists, pale with shock. Those three understood. Harry offered them a small smirk to reward their intelligence.

"Crispin, Atticus, you may come and go freely to attend your sons. Amycus, you will tend your sister."

"Yes, my Lord," the three chorused.

"Fenrir, continue recruiting the werewolves, but do not attack any magical targets without my direct order. Peter, you will stay and tend those of your brothers recovering. Sebastian, Caiden, respect of the Dark must be spread again. I want you to begin reviving the glory and beauty of Wizarding tradition. _None_ of the traditions will be forgotten. All bans on their teaching are henceforth removed. Speak to Lucius for details."

"Yes, my Lord!"

Harry gave Pettigrew a schedule of when the potions were to be given to those in the dungeon and instructions on what to do if they became difficult. Satisfaction warmed him as he observed Pettigrew's horrified expression. The rat would have a _very_ difficult and _messy_ few weeks.

Smiling, Harry settled down in the library to study the many Light and Dark rituals. He could only glean so much from the memories of others. The rest he'd have to learn for himself, and the meanings behind the varied symbols, gestures, and colors used in each could take months to understand.

The project also kept him away from the Death Eaters. He planned to spend as little time with them as he could get away with. He was terrified they'd discover he wasn't really Voldemort. Fortunately, studying wasn't an unpleasant task. He enjoyed the quiet and found himself honestly interested in the complicated traditions he was learning about. They were like living metaphors.

He laughed silently at himself. _Hermione would be so proud of me._

**xXxXxXx**

"Ah, well done Mr. Potter. I recall your mother was equally skilled with potions, although her true talent was charms."

Voldemort blinked, laughing inside. Old Horace thought he was so clever, thought he knew all the best ways to manipulate others and ingrate himself, but none of his tricks would work. Not this time. This time Voldemort would be in control. "You knew my mother, Professor?"

"Oh, yes. A brilliant witch. Reminds me a bit of Miss Granger there." The fat man gave him a jolly smile, as if he were clueless how those words would impact an orphan like Potter. "But enough of that. Perhaps we can talk later." With another smile, Slughorn moved away to check on the others in the class.

Voldemort felt eyes on him and turned to see Hermione smiling happily. He read her thoughts easily. She was glad someone knew about Potter's mother. It seemed everyone was so eager to talk about James – although even that was just passing comments – that Potter hardly heard anything about Lily.

He wondered if Slughorn had known or if he'd gotten lucky. Glancing at the old man from the corner of his eyes, Voldemort saw him watching the exchange with Granger. Voldemort ducked his head with mock shyness, and Slughorn winked. He'd definitely known, the sly Slytherin. Of course, he'd been House Head for a reason. Voldemort felt an evil smile slide briefly across his mouth. This was going to be so much fun.

After class, he lingered, Hermione squeezing his shoulder before leaving him alone. Voldemort shuffled up to the Professor's desk. Slughorn faced away, manually erasing the chalk board, so he cleared his throat.

The old man turned and smiled with delighted surprise. "Mr. Potter, can I help you?"

"I was just wondering if you could tell me more about my mother?"

"Of course, of course. I'd love to." Slughorn beamed at him joyously. "I have to get ready for my next class right now, but you could come to my office and share lunch with me on Saturday."

Voldemort made his green eyes go wide. "That would be great, sir."

Slughorn chuckled. "Go on, go on. I'll see you later, Harry."

Voldemort left feeling greatly pleased. By his sixth year of Hogwarts, he'd already known who all the influential and powerful students were and had courted them to his side. He had no desire or the time to do the same ground work this time around, especially since he had the Potter persona to maintain. Instead, Slughorn would do it for him with his little club. The man was pretty worthless on his own, but he possessed an undeniable gift for recognizing those who would later become great in some form. No doubt he was already marking out the 'special' ones. Even better, he had the free access to every House and year that Voldemort did not. He'd do all the work while Voldemort regained new and powerful followers.

"You look happy," Ron muttered as Voldemort sat next to him in Transfiguration.

"I am. Slughorn knew my mother. He's going to tell me stories about her on Saturday."

"That's great, Harry!" Ron beamed happily at him just the way Hermione had.

Voldemort carefully softened his smirk into a smile. "Isn't it?"

**xXxXxXx**

Everything was going so perfectly that Voldemort was quite shocked when, a week later, he hit his first problem.

It was late, well past curfew, and Voldemort was sneaking back into the Tower. He and Draco had been secretly meeting since they couldn't afford to publically announce their alliance. Draco was afraid of his Housemates' reactions, and Voldemort found the information that Draco could gather on the Dark's movements, although vague, was valuable.

"Where do you keep sneaking off to?"

He jumped and spun, wand in hand. Hermione stared in his general direction from her place on a couch by the fire, text books open around her. With a grimace, he pulled off Potter's amazing cloak and offered her a sheepish smile. There was no escaping this time.

"Sometimes I can't sleep. Walking helps. What about you," he asked as he sat down next to her.

"I was waiting up for you," she admitted. "You've been so distant lately, and when Ron said he woke up the other night and you weren't in bed, I got worried."

Voldemort felt a flash of annoyance. He really didn't like the way these two kept such close tabs on him. How did Potter stand it? "I didn't know I had to report my every move to you two."

Hermione's face darkened. "Sorry for caring."

"No." He sighed, knowing he was messing things up. He offered a sweet smile and grabbed her hand gently. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me whatever you want. I'm here for you, Harry. So is Ron. We love you."

Voldemort smiled sweetly, "Thanks, 'Mione."

She returned the smile. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."

"Yeah. Okay."

He moved to the stairs, deep in thought. As annoying as the Gryffindors were – they were as self-righteous and clingy as their stereotype portrayed them – they were also good at giving him opportunities to distance himself. Of course, it would only last a few days before they got over it and began bugging him again, but at least he didn't have to deal with them constantly. If he played it right, he'd only be their friend for what would amount to one and a half weeks of every month.

With this plan in mind, the next morning, he cornered Ron. "Thanks for telling on me," he whispered furiously.

The redhead blushed. "I told her to leave it alone."

"Yeah, whatever."

Breakfast was a long affair. Hermione tried to pull him into a conversation, Ron kept shooting him apologetic glances, and the rest of the House stared as they tried to figure out why they were fighting so much this year. He was feeling triumphant for having turned the situation in his favor when McGonagall stopped behind him.

"Potter. It's been decided that you will be captain of the Gryffindor team. You'll need to organize try-outs for next week."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, blinking in surprise. He'd forgotten Potter played Quidditch.

"Way to go, mate!" Ron pounded him on the back.

He just barely resisted cursing the ignoramus. "Thanks," he said instead with a perfect smile.

"Let me know when try-outs start. I'm going to go for Keeper."

"That's great, Ron!" Hermione said supportively.

"Yeah, great," Voldemort repeated. "We'll get to play together!"

Inside he was panicking. He'd never been really good at Quidditch, but it was only a stupid game. How hard could it be, really? Besides, being Potter may be annoying, but it wasn't difficult. If Quidditch was the worst he faced, he should be grateful. Thus decided, he put a large smile on his face and joined the inane conversation going on around him.

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort hated to admit it but he'd been wrong. _Seriously_ wrong. There was no way he could pull this off. He didn't move like Potter, and he was nowhere near as skilled. Quidditch would expose him for sure. So after the try-outs, he made his way to McGonagall. She seemed shocked about his resignation. He glanced into her mind only to discover that last year Potter had been banned and had been desperately hurt over it. To willingly back away seemed very out of character.

He left her office sweating. As suspicious as his quitting made others, flying would've been worse. Now he had to do damage control. Potter's friends could be a problem. If they added their suspicions on top of McGonagall's, Dumbledore might start looking too closely at him. Sighing, he squared his shoulders. There would be no more holding back from the Gryffindors. He couldn't afford it. He'd just have to suffer through the aggravation they caused.

"What!"

Voldemort winced at the redhead's bellow and turned beseeching eyes to the Mudblood. "You understand, right, Hermione? I've fallen so far behind and exams have been cancelled a couple of years. I'm really worried about the NEWTs – " Ron's mouth fell even further open. " – and I want to be ready the next time Voldemort comes for me. I won't let anyone else die! I'm sick of being helpless!"

The girl nodded reluctantly. "That makes sense, but, Harry, it's not good to become too obsessed with work." Ron was actually spluttering now. "You have to have time to relax and have fun, too. You love Quidditch."

"Yeah, but I still have you guys to make sure I relax. Quidditch will take up so much time with practices and everything. Please? You have to understand," he begged her, very glad he was Potter now. This would have been impossible otherwise.

"Of course," Hermione exclaimed, teary-eyed as she flung her arms around him.

Ron was still shocked. He kept mumbling "but it's Quidditch" under his breath.

High with triumph, Voldemort quickly hugged them both. "Thanks. This means a lot to me, you not making me feel bad. I knew I could count on you." He gave them a large smile that calmed them both. "Let's play a game of Exploding Snap. We haven't had time to just hang out really, have we?"

Like mindless chicks, they trailed after him, all their worry and suspicions completely gone.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus' eyes followed the Potter pretender as he ate breakfast at the raucous Gryffindor table. His act was near perfect, but someone who knew how to look would realize something was different.

The pretender was too often quiet, too distant, too watchful. The Gryffindors were used to Potter being difficult and stupidly didn't realize this wasn't more of the same. The pretender was in complete control, in a way that Potter had never been capable of, and his old master was training them. Already the Gryffindors were learning to read subtle cues, either engaging the pretender in conversation or leaving him alone depending on what he wanted.

Another clue that something was wrong was the boy's grades. They'd gone up substantially this year, even though there was no evidence that the boy was actually studying more than normal. Albus was aware of these changes in Potter, but he insisted it was due to increasing maturity and the effects of the boy learning to cope with his more recent experiences.

From the corner of his eye, Severus noticed Minerva watching the innocent seeming boy with a frown and a wrinkle between her brows. He felt hope stir. "Something the matter," he asked blandly.

"You'll be pleased to know Potter quit the team," she answered with a half-hearted glare.

Severus smirked, amused that his old master was foiled by something as simple as Quidditch. Of course, he had a part to play so he told her smugly, "Looks like Slytherin will reign supreme once again."

She scoffed, but the pensive look didn't leave her eyes. "Has he seemed depressed to you?"

"Not particularly," he answered shortly, sneering. Why was everyone so blind? They expected to see a depressed teen, so they saw one despite there being absolutely no evidence of such a mental state.

Severus wasn't quite sure why it bothered him, but even though he agreed with Potter that they needed to keep the truth of the situation secret, he was growing more and more annoyed. Why was it that the people who professed to love the boy couldn't see that it wasn't Harry Potter they were dealing with? He'd hoped Voldemort would face _some_ difficulty with taking over Potter's life, but he seemed to have done it effortlessly.

"No. I didn't think so, either."

Her soft remark drew his attention. Severus studied her expression again. Perhaps there was someone who'd noticed, after all.

"I am glad the boy is so at ease," she spoke hurriedly, feeling his evaluative gaze. "He deserves a break."

Severus sighed and looked away. Any suspicions she harbored were quickly being destroyed by her guilt. She obviously felt like she was acting dishonorably by doubting the boy over Quidditch, especially because it could be seen as bitterness over the potential loss to Slytherin. Severus had to give Voldemort credit. The man was a master manipulator.

He was startled out of his morose thoughts when a large black owl swooped down on him from among the others who had flown in with the morning post. Minerva and Albus' eyes settled on him curiously as he divested the bird of the scroll it carried. He ignored them and left the table. He didn't open the parchment until he was safe behind the wards in his office.

_Snape, I've put a concealment spell on the parchment. Only someone with the Dark Mark can read it. Another hex insures it will self-combust if it's opened outside of Hogwarts, so I'm certain only you can read it. It's a bit out of character to mail you, but summoning you is just as conspicuous since I shouldn't be seen consulting you on such a matter. Greyback brought me a Muggle newspaper. I've attached it. Why isn't anything being done? I also have questions concerning rewards. I had to promise Greyback that he could lead the next raid. It bought me time, but I need a better way to reward my followers since I don't plan on making many raids._

It was unsigned. It didn't have to be.

Severus sighed. The letter was to the point, but Potter still didn't know how to guard his words, even his written ones. For one well versed in reading between the lines, the missive practically screamed distress. Even if it hadn't, he would have known Potter was panicking. Nothing less would have his new Lord writing to him. Potter was still uncomfortable with him. They had many years animosity to overcome, and Severus being his caretaker during his suffering over the summer hadn't made things easier. So he knew whatever had forced Potter to write had to be bad.

Bracing himself, he flicked open the attached envelope and pulled out a Muggle paper clipping dated a few days ago.

Child Abuse in Surrey, the headline read. He quickly scanned the information.

Apparently Muggle authorities had gone to Potter's residence to follow up on the case against Vernon Dursley and were not happy to find Potter missing. Petunia claimed Potter had run away, but the police were highly suspicious and were in the process of conducting a very thorough investigation. The article reported that there was a gaping chasm of missing records. The police had been unable to recover a birth certificate or medical records for their nephew. In fact, the only thing official they had was Potter's primary school records. Additionally, a vivid description of witnessed physical abuse was given by a police officer who made the arrest of Vernon Dursley. This was followed by many quotes from neighbors who'd always suspected something was wrong but apparently hadn't ever done anything about it.

Severus closed his eyes. He'd Legilimized the boy last year, but the images had been hazy through his own Occlumency shields, which he never let down. Now he wished he'd taken a better look.

As for the article, neither Potter's name nor his family's address was mentioned. The only thing that connected it to Harry Potter was the name Dursley. It wasn't well known, but Potter's peers, the Order, and the Death Eaters were aware of his family's name. Of course, the address was top secret and only Potter's closest friends and the Order knew it. Now it'd been narrowed down to Surrey. There were many Dursleys in Europe but not so many that this wasn't a significant clue.

Severus settled more comfortably in his chair as he slowly and carefully composed his response. The news could have been worse, but it certainly wasn't good. However, he was pleased that he now had a chance to mend the rift between him and his new Lord. Letters were a neutral and non-threatening medium. It was the perfect way to begin to purge some of the tension.

**Chapter end. **_Please review._


	5. Conspire

**A/N:** Let me know what you think of this chapter if you have time. I've found the reviews of this story directly influence how the chapters develop, and in my opinion, make it a whole lot better.

Thanks, **Saltwater**! Most of this chapter I wrote due to you pointing out that I might be rushing things a bit. The next chapter was actually going to be chapter 5. _(grins)_ This means you guys may just get another chapter in only two days because it's mostly written and just needs to be cleaned up a bit.

Thank you, **Tonks is cool**! You certainly are. I hope your questions about magic in this story are answered much more clearly! Lol. In fact, your question gave me a BRILLIANT idea for the future of this story... _(cackles madly)_

**Asphodel**, thanks for supporting my emotional interpretation. You've reminded me to keep in mind how many perspectives there are. Lucius' POVs are thus due to you! Hope you like them.

...

**Conspire**

Lucius knelt in front of his Lord's throne. It was the first meeting they'd been called to since the majority of the Death Eaters had been imprisoned, which had been three weeks ago. Excitement strummed through his veins. He hadn't felt so intensely in many long years, but ever since the Dark Lord arrived at his manor at the end of summer, a sense of rebirth had gripped him. Uncertainty and unhappiness burned away as new purpose and passion reignited in his soul.

Voldemort stared down at them, red eyes indifferent and alien, while delicious power, perfectly controlled, radiated from his form. _This_ was what he'd hoped for when he'd been marked. _This_ was what he'd been searching all his life for. He felt fierce, howling hunger flood his system. Finally, they would change the world.

"Good news, my Lord," Lucius reported proudly. "I've found the perfect spot for our shop in Hogsmeade, and it will undermine the Weasleys as well."

"Tell me," that hissing voice demanded, attention riveted on Lucius.

He preened, thrilling in the danger of having that attention and in the knowledge that he would soon be rewarded. "The two drop-outs of Arthur's have somehow scrapped up enough money to open a joke shop. It's in a prime location, and I have the means to ensure they suddenly lose the rights to the building, which would force the twins to starve in the streets where they belong and open it up for new ownership."

There was a long pause and Lucius felt his exhilaration begin to slip into anxiety. What had he done wrong?

"No," his Lord finally answered. "It would be good to put the Light lovers in their place, but that area of Hogsmeade isn't what I was thinking of. We need to cultivate a feeling of mystic. Having our shop on the main strip next to insignificant candy stores and joke shops will demean our end goal."

"I apologize, my Lord," Lucius groveled, honestly distressed at disappointing him.

"We need a place that is near the main traffic but just far enough off the beaten path that it creates an air of mystery and exceptionality."

"I understand, my Lord. I'll keep looking."

Lucius kept his head down as he listened to the others report. Knott was given praise for the building he'd acquired on Diagon Alley. Pettigrew rasped, utterly exhausted, his report that it would only be two more weeks before the rest of their members were cleansed. Old Avery and Lestrange had many good ideas for the items, books, and ceremonial clothing that would be displayed and sold in the new shops. The only one who didn't have worthwhile news was Greyback, and yet the filthy wolf was smug and smirking throughout the meeting.

Jealousy and frustration almost sucked his breath away. He would see to it that he was the most impressive of his Lord's followers. He would see to it that he returned to his status as the Dark Lord's Lieutenant. Poisonous eyes surveyed his fellow Death Eaters. He was a Malfoy, and he'd be sure they all remembered what that meant. He was no longer addicted, his path no longer muddy. It rendered him more dangerous, not less.

Blood pumping with the thrill of the hunt, Lucius strode from the room, unaware of the ruby eyes that watched his every move.

**O**

Harry collapsed into the luxurious chair behind his desk. Now that the Death Eaters were near recovered, he'd have to have these meetings once a week and find jobs for all of them. He'd been given more time than he'd thought he'd have, but he still wasn't ready. They _could not_ find out that he was Harry Potter. It would ruin everything.

Even so, he found he couldn't keep quiet when Lucius suggested ruining Fred and George's only chance of success, ruining their lifelong dreams. Harry wasn't completely ignorant of reality. Things like this happened. If you wanted to be a successful businessman, you had to be a bit bloodthirsty. Still, it was Fred and George!

Thankfully, he'd managed to come up with a reason that had satisfied Lucius. Next time it might not be possible to spare his friends or the Light. He was the Dark Lord. He'd known this would come up, and despite that, he couldn't do it. He couldn't let Lucius attack the twins. Worse, the vicious anticipation drenching Lucius' mind had taken him by surprise. The man was no longer addicted, but that didn't mean he was a different person.

_What did I expect, _he asked himself bitterly. These were Death Eaters, Voldemort's forces. Addicted to Dark magic or not, they were still vicious and sadistic men. If he couldn't, he should never have made the decision to become Voldemort. In any case, it was too late now to go back. He had to accept it and move on.

An owl swooped in through the open window beside him. Harry's heart leapt. This would be the second letter from Snape. He was hoping this one would be more detailed, because the first had been short and to the point:

_My Lord, I was unaware of this development. Albus has not spoken of this to anyone, although I don't doubt that he is cognizant of the situation. Certainly the pretender is also ignorant. After considering the puzzle, I've concluded that this is perhaps Albus' way of revenging the boy's mistreatment and also an effort to assuage his own guilt. It would be best if Albus obtains his way in this. The only thing that can be done at this point would be to have the Muggle's killed. Due to the Obliviate Hex being intrinsic magic, it has a limited effect on Muggles and must be used immediately after the event that needs be erased. Although I would be unbothered by the wretched Muggles' deaths, it would bring the situation to the awareness of the general public. This would only give the pretender more leverage to manipulate the masses. _

_Snape_

Something about the letter had made Harry write again, and he was now glad he had. Even though it was from Snape, he found himself needing the letters to continue. It reminded him that the world extended past this dark manor and Death Eaters. It reminded him of Hogwarts and why he was doing this in the first place. A wry smile softened his mouth. If nothing else, it would increase his vocabulary, which could only help him sound more like a Dark Lord and less like a teenager.

He warded the library door with a gesture and a surge of power before he settled more comfortably. He moved the chair closer to the window, preferring to read in the sunlight. He was happy to note the parchment was much longer than the first. Eager, he broke the seal and began to read.

_I am unsurprised that you have not come across intrinsic or extrinsic magical theory yet. It is not taught at Hogwarts until 6__th__ and 7__th__ year due to it being fairly advanced and complex. Magic is a wild force that is bound by human understanding. Consequently, it is subject to natural laws because such logic is the foundation of all human thinking. In other words, humans think in terms of science, and so magic is a form of science. In ancient times, magic was studied along with biology, chemistry, and physics, and named the arcane science. Thus it can be defined and studied in much the same way as the other sciences. Spells and rituals are even defined by scientific terms such as family, class, and species. _

_The magical families are thus: Transfiguration, Charms, Curses, Alchemy, Divination, Herbology, Runic, and Ward magic. Potions are a branch of Alchemy, while shields and defense would be a branch of Ward magic, Hexes and Jinxes a type of Curse magic. The two classes of magic are Light and Dark. There are also two species of magic; intrinsic and extrinsic. In short, intrinsic magic can only work if the subject possesses internal magic. Extrinsic magic works on all matter regardless of its magical state. _

_Ex: Transforming a rock into a pillow is classified as Light, extrinsic Transfiguration. It is Light because the spell is an act of creation, and nothing is destroyed; the rock can be returned to its original state. It is extrinsic because it did not need to be a magical rock to be transformed. Dark Transfiguration destroys the subject's original form and thus permanent. It is also intrinsic, but it cannot be done unless the subject possesses some magical properties to anchor the change. _

_Each family of magic possesses a Light and Dark branch, as well as intrinsic and extrinsic areas. In your career as a student, you've only come across extrinsic magic, except for a few Charms. Occlumency, Legilimency, and the Patronus Charm are all intrinsic magic. Regardless of a Muggle's capability to see a Patronus, it cannot affect any subject that is not magical. In other words, it cannot touch or change – physically or mentally – that is not magical, such as a Dementor._

_The Obliviate Hex is a type of Dark Curse, as well as a Charm, since it permanently destroys memories. Legilimency has some effect on Muggles but will only reveal the current emotions and thoughts of their mind. Unlike with a magical person, you cannot search through memories, nor see things as clearly. As for the Obliviate, you can only erase recent memories without leaving damage. It is possible to erase information farther back, but the spell would start in the present and work back to that point. Ex: if you wanted to erase the memory of an event that happened a week in the past, the Muggle would be forced to forget the entirety of that week. The further back the spell goes, the more likely the Muggle will suffer permanent damage and be unable to function normally. That is why it is so important for Obliviators to arrive at the scene as soon as possible._

_Another interesting fact concerning Legilimency and Occlumency resides in the contradictory relationship of these two magics. Should a wizard or witch master one of the two Arts, they will be unable to excel in the other. In other words, being a Master Occlumens renders one unable to do well at Legilimency. Such is my case. It may also explain why you were unable to learn Occlumency last year, even out of self-defense. The only times you forced me out of your mind was by attacking my own. Regardless, you should be able to learn enough Occlumency for you to be aware when another enters your mind and thus be able to attack that mind in return. It is my opinion that you should not let the ability of Legilimency prevent you from endeavoring to learn to guard your mind. _

(Harry was smiling by the time he reached this point. This last bit sounded so completely like Snape that he could practically hear the man's low, sardonic drawl. He missed Hogwarts. Hermione was most likely really excited about learning complicated things like intrinsic and extrinsic magic. Hell, Harry wished he could learn about it more thoroughly as well! A quick summery, no matter how concise, wouldn't give him a true understanding of such a complicated topic.)

_I am also pleased to inform you that the Quidditch ban has been lifted for your counterpart. However, the sport presented too much of a challenge, and he was forced to quit the team. Mr. Weasley was disappointed but has been compensated sufficiently. He is both Keeper and Captain of the team. If you have any other concerns, do not hesitate to write. I will attempt to address them._

_Snape_

Literally laughing out loud, Harry tried to imagine the great and powerful Voldemort conquered by something as silly as Quidditch. And the news about Ron was just as great. His friend was probably over the moon! He was so happy for both of them; Hermione getting to study harder subject and Ron able to finally show the world that he had talents of his own.

A deep pang shot through his chest. He would give anything to be there with them. Studying, laughing, playing Quidditch. Almost brutally, he shoved those emotions aside. It simply wasn't meant to be. He had to focus on his life the way it was now. Determined to do just that, Harry re-read the parts describing magic, vowing to put the past behind him.

He couldn't afford regret. Not anymore. In fact, he should order Snape to never speak to him about his old life, but he couldn't quite do it. He needed to hear if his friends were okay. As a compromise with himself, he decided to just not acknowledge the personal information. It wasn't like Snape blabbered about his friends a lot; likely he'd only rarely bring them up. Harry could live with that.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus felt rage shift and slide under his perfect mask of apathy. School had been in session for a month and a half. In that time, most of his attention went toward watching the pretender. He did not like the cozy relationship that he was beginning to develop with Slughorn. It was quite obvious what Voldemort planned to use the man for. It would bode ill for the Wizarding world if Voldemort managed to seduce a new generation of the powerful to his side.

It also infuriated him that apparently Voldemort was continuing to have regular meetings with Albus. The night Voldemort had spent in the Headmaster's office a week into term had seemed innocent, but it had happened twice more. Severus was determined not to let the old man sway him from discovering what was going on in those secret meetings this time.

But the final straw, the action that brought Severus to the point of cold fury, was the sideway glances shared between the pretender and his godson. The Unbreakable Vow he was under snapped taunt in warning. He'd managed to dismiss the blasted thing to the back of his mind, but he was able to do that no longer. Not only had Narcissa tricked him into vowing to protect Draco's reputation and life, the third component was a vow not to reveal the situation to the Dark Lord.

"Pathetic, Weasley," he snapped. "I can hear you whispering from across the room. If you were unaware, voiceless is the equivalent of soundless!"

The redhead flushed angrily, and Severus sneered at him in disgust before sweeping away.

Across the room, Draco hexed Pansy with boils. A wide grin split his face. He'd been the second to succeed, Hermione being the first.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin."

The Gryffindors in the class yelled in outrage but a hot glare quickly shut them up. He wasn't so distracted, however, that he didn't notice the happy smile the pretender flashed Draco's way, nor did he miss the way his godson blushed faintly, obviously pleased at impressing the Potter look-alike.

"Stay after class, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, sir," the boy answered readily, eyes snapping away from the pretender.

Severus contemplated how he should approach this, his mind furiously working at the problem. Surely Voldemort hadn't had time to get too far with his godson. He'd been busy with Slughorn, Dumbledore, and maintaining the Boy Hero persona with the Gryffindors. This last, he'd had to put more energy into after the fiasco with Quidditch. Severus could only pray it wasn't too late and bitterly reproached himself for his lack of attention.

Draco had been acting perfectly normally since school started. In hindsight, that should have tipped him off that something was wrong. The boy had experienced a complete change of thought after the summer, and such a change should have reflected in his behavior. The fact that it hadn't pointed to deception of some type. Severus was aware of only one reason for Draco to keep this secret, even from his godfather. He'd decided to spy on the Dark through the Death Eater children and report back to the pretender.

"You wanted to speak to me, Severus?"

He nodded, eyes dark and solemn. "You are a talented wizard, Draco. I am proud of you."

The boy flushed again. "Thank you."

"However, I am curious as to the exchange I witnessed between you and Potter."

Draco's face instantly closed off. He was a talented actor, Severus would give him that, but he'd been around longer. He instantly read signs in the tension of shoulders and legs, the way his chin lowered to protect his vulnerable throat, that indicated his godson was quite attached to who he thought was Potter.

"What concern is it of yours?"

"Are you lovers?" Severus asked bluntly and felt relief when the teen dropped his eyes with a blush before recovering. The particular expression that had flashed across the teen's face revealed they had not had sex as of yet, but that they were quickly heading into that realm. Draco was obviously already in the infatuation stage.

"If that is all," Draco said coldly, a sneer on his face.

"Dragon, be careful. Something isn't right with Potter this year," Severus told him softly, knowing it was useless. He was too late. As he feared, Draco didn't respond, instead turning and walking away.

Severus felt his hands clench, ice crackling along his nerves. He would not allow Voldemort to break Draco. The boy would not listen, not now. But perhaps he'd have another chance. If Voldemort slipped and moved to fast, Severus might have a chance to save his godson. And if that failed, he could always reveal the relationship. Surely that would put pressure on the pretender and thus keep him too busy to mess with Draco. Before all that, however, he had to discover what Albus was doing with Voldemort in their secret lessons.

"I do not understand you, Severus. Harry is obviously putting forth great effort to do better in his studies and prepare for the war. I'd think you'd commend him for his changed attitude," Albus remarked as he regarded Severus over his half-moon spectacles.

Severus said nothing. It was pointless. His mentor would not heed him on the topic of Harry Potter. "You did not answer me. It would reassure me greatly to understand the new relationship you have with the boy."

Albus said nothing for a long moment. "It will become clear later. For now, be content that I am teaching the boy history and Light combat magic. This last is at Harry's own request, and he has treated the subject with respect. I honestly believe you worry over nothing, Severus. The boy is doing amazingly well. I am very pleased."

Severus paled. Merlin. Light combat magic. "Very well. Thank you, Headmaster."

Albus sighed. "I hope you feel more like yourself soon. I am worried about you."

_So am I,_ Severus silently answered as he left his mentor's office.

Anxiety attacked him from several different angles. The Unbreakable Vow strummed unpleasantly now that he was aware of Draco's dire situation, the consequences of arming Voldemort with both powerful Light and Dark magic rippled through his mind with increasingly bleak scenes of the future, and his more personal concern for the closest thing he had to a son disrupted his usually precise thoughts.

He desperately needed to mediate. Then he needed to formulate some plans to slow Voldemort's shocking progress. Most importantly, he needed to cease underestimating his former master. Severus had never known Voldemort outside of his addicted persona. Even in the beginning, the Dark Lord had already begun to succumb to the Dark. This clever and sane version was turning out to be doubly dangerous. He wouldn't forget again.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry looked over the throne room, pleased. All the Death Eaters were recovered. They looked weak and sick, but they were clean of addiction and mostly returned to sanity. The few who had suffered Azkaban for a decade could not be expected to be completely normal. Still, he felt like he actually accomplished something good. But no good deed goes unpunished, as the Muggles say. Now he had four dozen wizards looking to him for leadership and watching his every move.

"Now that we are reunited, I want it made clear what our goals are," Harry said softly, keeping his expression and body language fearsome. "Should any of you disappoint me again, these last few weeks will seem like paradise in comparison."

A few actually trembled at this, and Harry felt a bit guilty for threatening them when they'd only yesterday been released from a torment Harry knew all too well.

"First, the Ministry needs to be watched carefully. I want to be informed instantly of any advances toward revealing the Wizarding world to Muggles. Second, I want a detailed list of all the old laws that have been circumvented or changed. I want to know who changed them and why. When the time comes, I want to be able to return things to their proper place. Third, Dumbledore and his band of Light soldiers need to be checked. They have too much power over the masses. We need to counter this. The shops are a good way to start, as well as regular articles in different publications."

Harry felt blue eyes on him and looked down at Lucius. He felt the man's excitement at all these promises, but he also felt a bit of confusion. Harry began to sweat. He wasn't acting firm enough, apparently. Voldemort wasn't one to explain himself in detail. Harry knew that, but he saw no other way to make it clear to all the Death Eaters that they were no longer mindless killing machines.

"My Lord, you can count on us," Cole Gibbon said into the short silence.

Lucius saved him. His surge of sadistic glee clued Harry that speaking out of turn, even to voice support, was not tolerated. Gritting his teeth and locking away his revulsion, he let the Darkness control his expressions and actions.

"Crucio," he hissed.

Gibbon screamed, his skeletal body dancing and thrashing on the hard marble floor. Illness made him weak. Two snaps could be heard over the man's shrieks of agony. Bones had broken.

Harry felt an alien smile slide across his face. His heart pumped in excitement, the Dark flooding his senses with exhilaration. Almost regretfully, he stopped the Dark Curse. "Did I give you permission to speak, _Gibbon_," he asked gently, practically purring the last name.

Snape had made it clear in his third letter that the Death Eaters didn't need rewards in the same way Harry thought of rewards. Just showing favor or disfavor would be enough to satisfy them. In fact, offering them things would only cause suspicion. Death Eaters were servants, not friends.

"…sorry… sorry…" the man slurred, almost senseless.

As the Dark retreated, Harry felt sick. The satisfaction rolling up to him from the group was undeniable. He'd known that any softness would be frowned upon, but this was completely different. The Death Eaters wanted to be dominated. They almost craved punishment. It was bewildering even with the Dark magic flooding his system. It was part of the Dark mentality that he couldn't feel at gut level. Intellectually, he knew how they wanted him to behave, so he did. But it cost him.

"I'll be splitting you into three teams. You are to focus on one of our three goals exclusively, but if there is an opening in another area I want you to take it. We must move quickly if we are to succeed. We must work in the shadows and not play into the Light's hands as we have previously."

Heads bowed to him in answer.

As he separated the Death Eaters and assigned their prime objective, he reached carefully into their thoughts, looking for suspicion as to his personality. He didn't find open suspicion, but there were some awareness noting the differences in Voldemort. He needed not only to be vicious, he needed to be cruel. When he put Owen Jugson in the group assigned to researching the changes made to the old laws, he saw a flash of bitter disappointment. It was just the opening he needed.

"Agonis dementia," Harry screamed. He stood gracefully and stalked toward the gibbering and moaning Death Eater. His followers parted, watching him with hungry eyes, as he stood over the writhing, sobbing man. He drank in the wails of insane terror, his red eyes sweeping the crowd. "Do not question me. Do not talk back. Things have changed, but the essentials have not. I am your Master. You will obey regardless of your own will. Or you will suffer. Is this clear?"

"Yes, my Lord," came the chorus.

A general sweep with Legilimency revealed that the small twinges of concern had faded completely.

He smiled, knowing it was evil and sadistic. "Good." He cancelled the spell on Jugson and flicked his hand at the nearest black-cloaked form. "Get this parasite out of my sight." With that, he turned and settled back on his throne to watch his servants depart. They did as directed, oblivious to his growing unhappiness.

**xXxXxXx**

"I don't like it," Severus growled. "Draco has unmistakably formed an alliance with Potter, and I've seen the looks they share. I will not see my godson tricked into his bed. You must release me from my oath! I will protect Draco, but I must tell our Lord."

"No," Narcissa refused. "Our Lord has returned to his former glory, but he's made it clear the Potter child is still the enemy. He will not forgive Draco's bad judgment."

"You don't know that!" Severus was almost to the point of tearing at his hair. Narcissa was a good friend and he trusted her. Thus he'd walked right into her trap that summer. He wished he could crawl through the floo to shake her to death.

"I must go. The All Hallows Sacrament will start soon, and I'm sure you have other duties to attend before Hogwarts' feast."

Severus cussed as he pulled his head out of the hearth. If only she knew what her son really faced, but he couldn't reveal that Potter was really Voldemort to anyone not bearing the Dark Mark. And he wouldn't ever tell Lucius, not knowing which way the man would jump with that information. Potter must be protected.

He shivered in sick dread, remembering only too well Voldemort's head games that led to increasing confusion between pain and pleasure. He broke his lovers until they begged to be hurt again and again. And Narcissa had tied his hands as Voldemort began those games anew, this time using Draco to sate his twisted hungers.

"Damn you, Cissa. You've outthought yourself this time."

Potter would have helped Draco. He would have been forced to deliver some kind of punishment, but he would have left Draco whole and alive. Voldemort wouldn't be as kind. And to top it off, Albus was dying and training the pretender in combat magic. With an exhausted sigh, he sat in his favorite leather chair, rubbing at his temples.

"I hope you're having a better time of it," he whispered, thoughts on the young Dark Lord he now belonged to.

**O**

Harry sat on a simple throne in the middle of a raised dais. All his Dark servants and their close family were in attendance. Tonight was the first night when darkness clearly dominated day. The Dark would now be at its strongest until mid-winter where it would begin to decline once more.

It was the first Halloween the Death Eaters would celebrate together in just under two decades. Voldemort had foregone such traditions the last two years before his downfall and hadn't taken them up again since he'd been resurrected.

The men proceeded into the throne room, single file. Each carried a shimmering globe of black water spelled atop a long stave. As they marched, their deep voices rolled and built in an old Latin chant. Dark magic hovered thickly over all of them, eddying and swirling through the room like a thick mist. Ceremonial waist-cloths hung on their hips in a wide range of dark colors, each echoing their family banner, while each family's heraldic sign glowed on their bare chests.

Lucius was a particularly impressive sight. His long blond hair fell in a smooth sheet to mid-back, his eyes alight with pride. The cloth around his waist, falling in graceful swaths to the floor, was a rich dark purple – royal purple. On his thin chest, a glorious silver dragon curled snout to tail with wings outstretched.

The women entered next. Each wore glorious robes embroidered with their own hands and magic, each rune symbolic and rich in meaning, telling those who knew the code a wealth of information about their families' triumphs and defeats in the past year. They sang in perfect counterpart to their husbands, brothers, and fathers.

Harry felt the first honest smile as a Dark Lord grace his features. They all had the feathered tops of wheat wreathing their heads like a harvest crown. They were all pregnant. With the exception of Alecto Carrow, of course.

The men were by this point standing in a wide circle, the women twirling in the center, their robes flaring in a beautiful display. These men and woman, a good percentage that had chosen Dark and were not merely Dark-allied neutrals, were at their strongest. It showed in their fierce expressions.

The ceremony slowly built, and Harry bore witness to how magic was fed and bound. He'd seen the importance of the old ways through memories and through books, but this was the first time he'd experienced something like this in person. It was incredible! It _almost_ lightened the burden he'd willingly accepted.

As midnight arrived, a steady invisible rain of Dark magic poured down, bathing them in sweet power. The men moved as one, roaring as they dove into the dancing woman, grabbing the first within reach. They danced, proclaiming their dominance and glory, to the deep drumming beat provided by magic.

**O**

Severus Apparated into Riddle Manor's receiving room. The sounds of celebration could be heard even through the thick walls. It sounded even more raucous than the feast he'd just left. Severus winced and moved in that direction only to pause thoughtfully. His mark told him his Lord was in another direction. Turning, he went in search of Potter and found him in the library moments later.

The Dark Lord stood staring out the small window behind a massive mahogany desk, arms wrapped around his chest, his back to the room. Severus shut the door quietly. This was the first time he'd seen Potter since that summer. The Dark Lord's hair was longer, he noted, as Potter turned to face him. It fell, black and thick, to his neck and covered his skull completely. The face was no longer waxy but was still touched by otherness, his nose too flat and his eyes still ruby red.

"How was the school feast," his Lord asked neutrally.

Severus was relieved at the absence of tension or anger. Potter no longer counted him an enemy. He tried for a joke to further prove his good intentions. "As any feast would be with a Hall full of hyper children," he said with his trademark sneer. It earned him a shadow of a smile. "Why are you not celebrating with the others?"

"I stayed and did my part but knew they would enjoy themselves more if I retired."

"Are you well?" Severus asked worriedly, not liking the exhaustion in those red eyes.

"Things are progressing," Potter evaded. "Everyone has detoxed successfully, and our plans are succeeding. The rumors and suggestions we've been spreading through the neutrals have brought about a renewed interest in the old ways."

Severus felt gratitude and pride for the man before him. Who knew Potter would make such a great Dark Lord? But he couldn't help noticing that he hadn't responded when asked about himself. "That is wonderful, my Lord," he murmured.

The Dark Lord studied him, and Severus held himself still under the scrutiny. "Why do you call me that even in private?"

"It is best not to get into bad habits. Besides, you _are_ my Lord now. Dark magic binds me to _you_."

They shared a smile at the irony, and then Potter chuckled. "Can't be worse than Voldemort, at least."

"You are much better, my Lord," Severus agreed.

"Harry."

He looked up sharply.

The Dark Lord looked at him almost shyly. "Just for tonight. Please."

Severus felt understanding dawn. As much as Potter was now the Dark Lord, he was still Harry Potter, a Light wizard at heart. How this situation must be weighing on him. How unfulfilled and lonely he must be. "Harry," he allowed, and _Potter_ dissolved in his mind, leaving _Harry_ – the name of someone he'd come to greatly respect – in its place.

The red eyes flared with unmistakable pleasure. "Thank you, Severus."

"Would you care for a game, Harry, on this most hallowed night?" he offered with exaggerated solemnity, gesturing at the chess set in the corner. It won him a laugh, and Severus felt almost smug in reaction.

"I'm afraid I won't present much of a challenge," Harry answered even as he summoned the board and settled it on the desk.

"You have me at a disadvantage, I assure you."

For an hour, they teased and jockeyed for the most advantageous positions as their pieces moved among the black and white squares. In the end, Severus won as predicted, but it was a difficult victory since the pieces were reluctant to put the Dark Lord's king in danger.

"Bribery, Severus," Potter asked with a grin. "How will you ever fulfill that bargain to your rook?"

"A Slytherin will always find a way," he answered with a triumphant smirk.

"Yes, you are a sneaky bunch."

"Thank you for playing, Harry. I think I needed that." And it was true. Shoulders held too stiffly for far too long had loosened. The low grade headache constantly plaguing him was blessedly absent as well. "You are surprisingly good company."

His Lord regarded him with pleasure at the rare compliment, but then his mouth tugged down with worry. "Tell me."

_Oh how I wish I could,_ Severus thought with a pang, deeply worried about his godson. "Albus has been having secret meetings with the pretender. He tells me they contain lessons regarding history and Light combat magic. They've met three times as far as I've been able to ascertain."

"That's unfortunate, but we knew something like this would happen when I committed to the switch. It's out of our hands now."

"The problem is that Voldemort will not do as you have done. He is not self-sacrificing as you are and will not take up the mantle you left behind. He still serves the Dark, not the Light."

"If he wants to come to the Dark, he will have to acknowledge me as his Lord," Harry countered wryly. "I don't see that happening. He is still my enemy."

"Yes, but Albus is dying. He will not live much past next summer. The Light will have no Lord, no leader. The Dark shall take over."

"Isn't that what we want?"

"No," Severus snapped, glaring. "You know it isn't what _we_ want at all. The Light needs the Dark to ground its lofty ideals, and the Dark needs the Light to curb its ambitions and hunger. There needs to be balance as much as possible. Moreover, when Voldemort rises again, two Dark Lords clashing will be the destruction of everything you are trying to save."

Harry scowled at him. "What more would you have me do?"

"Do not grow complacent. Continue to advance your plans to revive the old ways, but do not forget to move against the pretender when and where you can. He is currently at a disadvantage due to his reduced age, but that will not last long."

"You're right, Severus." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Good. Fatalism doesn't become you."

Harry smiled back.

"There is another reason I came tonight," Severus remembered.

Surprisingly, the Dark Lord braced himself as if for a blow. "What is it?"

"It is not precisely bad news."

"It's Halloween. Something bad always happens on Halloween," Harry argued and waved a long-fingered hand at him. "Tell me."

"Dumbledore knows the whole prophecy. I originally only knew half, but he told the pretender before summer and thus felt I no longer had to be kept in the dark. He told me the complete version when school started. I did not wish to write it down."

Harry laughed bitterly. "All that to keep him from finding it out… Sirius dead…" He shook his head, obviously struggling to remain calm. "So what did it say?"

He told him.

"I suppose it could be worse." Harry rubbed at his eyes, obviously suffering a headache.

Severus' eyes drifted to the window and frowned when he saw the lightening sky. Dawn was approaching. "Perhaps I will be able to come while Albus is busy ignoring my good advice and shuts himself away with the pretender." He waited to see if his offered company would be rejected or not. He wasn't even sure why he'd made the offer. Their letters were sufficient, weren't they?

After a long second, the Dark Lord answered, "Thank you, Severus. That would be nice."

He stood and bowed, leaving Harry alone in the library. Now he had something else to worry about: the mental health of the Lord in charge of them all. But the tired sigh he expected would not come. Instead, he felt eager for their next meeting for personal reasons. Harry intrigued him, so adaptable yet stubborn. He'd suffered, but his integrity still remained intact.

"I am much too old for this," he muttered and Apparated with a quiet pop.

**Chapter end.** _Please review!_

**A/N:** Sorry about the possibly boring magic lesson. It's pertinent to the story, I swear, but I promise I won't be obsessed about it. The story is about people, not magical theory! Lol!


	6. Unwelcome

**A/N: **Just to let you all know, the quality of this chapter has GREATLY improved due to one person's effort: _**Saltwater!**_ She has offered to be my sounding-board, beta angel. She tells me her official title is thus: beta-who-comes-up-with-brilliant-ideas-and-who-I-could-not-possibly-live-without! Lol!

…

**Unwelcome**

Voldemort sat in the Chamber of Secrets, his chin resting in his open palm, Potter's wand dangling loosely from his other hand.

It'd been months since he'd used Dark magic, so _long_ since felt inky power swell and respond to his command. He'd been afraid the wards at the Dursleys', then the Burrow, then Hogwarts, would reveal him, but Dumbledore had left the school on some mission or other after Halloween. Voldemort had waited a week before deciding that the old fool wouldn't be back for a while and carefully suck away to the Chamber. He'd be safe from discovery there.

Exhilarated by the knowledge that the Wizarding world's precious Boy-Who-Lived was really the feared Dark Lord, who practiced the Darkest Arts in the Chamber of Secrets right under their noses, he had lifted the holy wand and ….

…. the Dark would not come.

He was annoyed. Vastly annoyed. With the _blasted_ boy who always seemed to block him from reaching his goals. With himself for not realizing this was a likely outcome. With the world that resisted him even though it was futile.

In every witch and wizard, magic flowed in a sort of invisible current. Those who used neutral magic had a gentle current that easily flowed one way, then the other. There was no great force or power in their possession, but they were highly versatile in the more neutral magics. Someone who was called to work higher, more powerful magic strengthened their current. Those who worked up to Lord level found it impossible to reverse the flow of their magic.

Potter's body was not to the point of being unable to reverse that flow, but there was a strong resistance. The boy's channels were running quite smoothly in a clockwise – Light – direction. It would take hard effort to slow that current and return it to a more neutral base. To then reverse it in a counterclockwise – Dark – direction, it would require hard effort that would take a year or more. And even if he succeeded, he'd then be barred once again from using the Light magic that Dumbledore was now teaching him.

So he sat, and he thought hard about his options. He still relished duping that insufferable, self-righteous, prig of a Light Lord. He was enjoying twisting his guilt into chains that brought him more and more under Voldemort's power. He was even enjoying studying the combat magic the old fool was teaching him. He'd never had access to Light magic before. He also greatly enjoyed being returned to a healthy, youthful body.

Fucking with the malleable Malfoy child never ceased to amuse him, even though the game was pretty tame still. Things had to be drawn out slowly to be done right. When Voldemort was done with him, Draco would hate and love him so fiercely, be so broken physically and mentally, that he'd never escape his clutches. Even stringing along Potter's many little friends was still amusing.

All of this pleased him deeply, but as he stared at Potter's wand – so much like his own – that had failed him, he realized how much he _missed_ the Dark. He'd had vague notions of ruling both the Light and Dark sides in a few short years, but the Dark would never submit to him without Dark mastery. A mastery he couldn't achieve in Potter's body. Or if he did, he'd then lose his control over the Light. It was physically impossible to command both sides at once, and Potter's body was quite set on its path toward Light mastery.

"Damn," he muttered blackly as his future plans unraveled.

"_Master."_

Voldemort spun, wand in hand. The Light had devastating spells as well as the Dark, and he'd always been a good student, even if he did hate his teacher. _"Nagini!"_ His wand dropped, his eyes widening.

"_Master, I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. I didn't know where to look, so I hid in the walls at the manor until I heard the Potion maker say you were here. He came to talk to the not-you during the autumn celebration."_

Voldemort crouched and ran his fingers lovingly over the large, scaled head. So Severus knew his identity. Obviously Potter had forbidden him to tell anyone else, or Dumbledore would have acted. _"You did wonderfully, my beautiful pet. The journey must have been arduous for you to make it in only a week."_

Nagini hissed in agreement, winding around his legs.

"_Tell me, my sweet. Tell me everything you know about the one who is not me and his plans."_

Voldemort grew more and more solemn as his snake recounted Potter's actions. He felt possessiveness curl coldly in his stomach as he listened. His followers were returning to power and glory without him. The acid burn of jealousy followed quickly after. He had a lot to think about.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus threw open the unused classroom door and sneered viciously as the pretender stepped away from his red-faced, panting godson. Luckily their clothes were in place, but the after flavor of magic in the air made it clear that clothes were redundant. They were no longer flirting. Sometime between his last conversation with Draco and now, they'd consummated their relationship.

Fury coated his vision red. "Potter! Detention!"

"But sir," the pretender cried, only half-heartedly. His face was unbearably smug.

"Out!" Severus almost couldn't control himself. The Unbreakable Vow constricted warningly around him. He'd sworn to protect his godson, and he was on the verge of failing. The cost of which would mean his death and his godson enslaved and broken.

"Why… none of your business…" Draco muttered, almost incoherent. His pupils were dilated, and he stared at the door as if by will alone he could make the pretender return.

Severus snarled and cast a sobriety charm with perhaps too much force.

Draco gasped and arched, his legs giving way at last. He fell clumsily to the floor. "Severus!"

"Don't you dare, Draco," he growled. "Have you lost your ever bleeding mind? What are you _doing?"_

Draco leapt to his feet. "You don't know what you're on about! I know exactly what I'm doing!"

"Draco… please…" Severus said intensely. He had to salvage this. "I have never led you astray. I tell you clearly and unequivocally that Potter will only do you harm. Look at what he's reducing you to."

"He's not reducing me to anything," Draco sneered. "It's called sex, Severus. You should give it a try. It might loosen you up."

Severus was across the room and pinning the blond to the wall by his throat before Draco could so much as flinch. "Just sex?" he rasped dangerously. "Is that so? Then under your robes I won't find bruises? Are you going to tell me that it doesn't matter?"

"Shut up." Draco broke free and shoved his godfather away. "Stay out of my affairs, Severus. I won't warn you again."

He watched helplessly as Draco stormed from the room.

**xXxXxXx**

Far from stupid, Voldemort knew of Severus' inability to communicate to anyone that he and Potter had switched bodies; he also knew Severus had a reputation to uphold in his dealings with Potter or he'd draw unwelcome suspicion. Still, he knew there were ways around such things. Severus was clever enough to make his knowledge known in a subtle way. To offer assistance or some sign of fidelity to his sworn Lord. And he hadn't.

Voldemort had decided to uncover why. He'd suspected for a long time that Severus' loyalty lay with Dumbledore, but the slippery Slytherin had always convinced him just enough to spare his life. That ambiguity would no longer be allowed. Voldemort was going to discover the truth, and Severus had better convince him utterly because he'd run out of any semblance of tolerance he possessed.

Pushing open the Defense classroom door open, he strode across the room and leaned insolently against the teacher's desk. "I'm here," he drawled, eyes watching every expression that crossed his servant's usually expressionless face.

"Potter…" Severus growled hatefully. "This is detention, not social hour. Take a seat."

"Come, _Severus_, let's not play. I'm sure we both have serious things to say to each other."

Instantly the man locked down, physically freezing in place.

Voldemort let a vicious smile touch his lips. He had owned Severus – body and soul – since he was seventeen years old. He knew every dark secret, every secret desire, and so he knew just how to hurt the man. "It's been a long time, my snake. I've missed you." He leaned forward, widening his eyes as he stared into the depths of Severus' Snape, knowing how much it'd rattle him to see Voldemort behind Lily's green eyes. "Thankfully your godson has been keeping me company."

Lifeless and yet somehow more compelling because of it, Severus gave him serious words indeed. "Stay away from Draco, or I'll kill you, my _Lord_." The last word was hissed in utter disgust. It would even have been impressive if it weren't for the fact that Severus had made himself perfectly clear where he stood.

Voldemort snarled, the betrayal flashing through him like lightning. He was almost panting in fury. "A _pathetic_ man like you could never kill me, _Severus_," he hissed, almost falling over into Parseltongue. He leaned even farther forward, their faces now only a hand's length apart. "I think I'll play with the boy a bit longer. See if he follows in his godfather's steps, or his father's. What do you think, dearest _Severus?_ Will sweet Draco bend as you did or break like Lucius? You had to Obliviate your dear friend to return him to sanity, did you not? Will you do the same to sweet, pretty Draco?"

The man leapt to his feet, glorious Dark magic swirling around him as he aimed his wand.

Voldemort laughed, delighted, and reveled in the displayed anguish and fury. "Going to attack the Boy Savior, _Severus?_ Whatever will your puppet master think about that?"

"I'd be content with any consequences I'd suffer as long as it meant your death."

Voldemort sneered before he blanked his expression, his eyes going cold. "I'm going to torture you, _Severus_. And then I'm going to kill you. Watch yourself, my traitorous little snake. I think you forget who you are dealing with."

"I forget nothing," Severus snarled furiously. "Get out."

He stared a moment longer. It galled him that he couldn't torture his wayward servant. Severus had no real power over him, but the same could be said of Voldemort. Neither could act openly against the other without revealing themselves. It was maddening. He thought he'd been resigned to his temporary weakness as Potter, but it was becoming more and more burdensome as time wore on, not less.

However, there _was_ someone he could hurt, and it would be a fitting revenge. He let the Potter mask fall over his features as he flashed Severus an innocent, charming smile and left without looking back. He needed the Invisibility Cloak, and then he would make a trip into the dungeons to see his _lover_. It was time to step up the games. Draco was ready, and he was hungry for blood and screams. It had been far too long. He hurried his steps, an excited grin blooming.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry listened as Atticus and Caiden reported on his progress with the Wizarding papers. Several had been open to printing articles that were written by them to remind the populace of this season's traditions. One such example is the hanging of a cut lock of hair by the fireplace to represent letting go of summer's excess and preparing for winter's dearth. When they fell silent, Sebastian happily reported on the reactions to those articles. The younger generation was listening. The old traditions were being seen as trendy, and the Light hadn't yet moved to shut them up because they thought it was merely a passing fad.

Harry nodded, pleased. This was just what they'd been hoping for: the Death Eaters because it satisfied their Slytherin cunning and Harry because it prevented active warfare so far. He smiled at the three old men, Voldemort's oldest followers. He felt closest to them. Partly because they were wise, reminding him of Moody and Dumbledore, and partly because they were more tranquil than the younger Death Eaters.

Caiden, especially, had his favor. He had silver hair that was often pulled back into a low ponytail. Sixty-four years old, his wife fifty-two, and yet due to the fertility spells Harry had granted the witch, she was now pregnant. It had brought the old wizard back to life and also made him so honestly devoted that he never questioned or watched Harry as closely as the others.

A knock sounded at the door.

Harry frowned. He hadn't summoned anyone else. "Yes?"

Morgan Selwyn stepped into the breach. "My Lord, pardon for interrupting, but Cole, Owen, and I have something you should see."

"I'll be right there, Morgan."

The man bowed and left.

Harry had a cold feeling in his stomach. Gibbon and Jugson had been obsessively searching for a way to redeem themselves since their punishments. Whatever they had promised to both be something that unsettled Harry and something they should be rewarded for. "Let us go see what the children have been up to," he said dryly to the older men, keeping his distress from his expression and tone.

Atticus, stooped slightly with his advanced age, tilted his bald head in agreement, Caiden merely held his gaze calmly, and Sebastian smiled back, sharp and dangerous. Together they fell in behind Harry as he led them to the throne room.

Having expected the unpleasant, he didn't falter when he found his Death Eaters towering over a whimpering figure. He walked past them without a glance and settled regally on his throne, pulling Dark magic to him like a thick cloak that he knew the others would sense and thrill in.

"What's this?" he asked softly, voice hissing slightly.

The man on the floor began to sob and shake, the scent of urine wafting up from him.

Selwyn sneered and took a step away, but Gibbon lashed out with a foot and a triumphant snarl. The man cried out, flung onto his back. His face was revealed from between stringy dark hair. Harry's heart squeezed in horror. He recognized him from forth year.

"We found him in a corner of a seedy pub, my Lord," Jugson related with fierce pride. "I thought he'd like to be reunited with his old friends once again."

"Of course he would, Owen," Harry murmured with a widening smile, knowing he was in trouble as Igor Karkaroff curled onto his side defensively. "I've missed him terribly."

Jugson smiled, absolutely overjoyed at the praise. His and Gibbon's honor was now restored.

"Cole. Come. I want everyone here to witness the return of our beloved comrade."

Gibbon hurried forward, a look of absolute bliss on his face despite the pain it would cause him to be used to summon the other Death Eaters.

Harry grabbed his arm and sent a spike of Dark into it, funneling the magic through all the other Dark Marks in a general summons. He did this for two reasons. One, because he knew he had to. Two, because, through Legilimency, he knew they expected a lengthy and creative torture session for the traitor; despite the fact that Karkaroff had run for good reason, his Lord insane and addicted to the Dark.

Perhaps he could have tortured Karkaroff with physical pain without assistance. He could rend the man's body even if it hurt Harry to do it, but the Death Eaters were hungry for something more vicious than mere physical pain, no matter how horrible. Harry remembered what he'd done to Lucius and felt sweat bead his skin in sick dread.

He'd have to let himself sink wholly into the Dark to satisfy his Death Eaters. He'd have to lose himself just has he had done then with Lucius and Severus and Bellatrix. Harry was terrified to go there, terrified he'd never come out. He needed Severus. As much as he hated it, the man would make sure he came out of this, just as he had that summer.

**O**

With a meaningful glance at Minerva, Severus silently left the high table. Dinner had just begun, so no one else noticed his departure. Heart beating fast, he hurried quickly into Death Eater regalia and almost ran toward the boundary of the anti-Apparation ward. Two things clear in his mind.

He'd been summoned, and that meant something had happened.

Mind fierce and cold, he prepared his magic for battle. Severus was prepared to kill to protect Harry, or do anything else that was necessary. With this in mind, he arrived in the receiving room and caught up with Ayden. His old childhood friend grinned, excited and hungry. Severus lifted an eyebrow.

"Karkaroff's been captured, and the Dark Lord has generously invited us to the party."

Severus hid his increased anxiety as he let an equally cruel smile slide across his mouth. "Then by all means, let us not dally."

So Harry wasn't in danger. _Yet._ He very well knew what would be expected of the Dark Lord, and he was intensely aware how important it was for this to be carried out perfectly. The results of slipping would be catastrophic, especially now when the Death Eaters would be worked up to a feverish, murderous pitch. He tightened his hand on his wand, readying himself for anything, and stepped into the crowded throne room.

A dozen others had arrived before them and pressed in close to the open half-circle that apparently had Karkaroff and the wizards who'd captured him in the center. The raised dais with the Dark Lord's throne sat a few feet past them. A horrible expression graced the strange features, and the red eyes practically glowed. Severus was impressed with Harry's ability to act. There wasn't a hint of the distress Severus knew he had to be feeling in either his expression or his body language.

The Dark Lord found his gaze, and he felt need press against his mind. Understanding the problem, he allowed the thoughts in past his shields and regurgitated memories of past tortures, so Harry understood what the bloodthirsty group expected. All this passed in less than five seconds before the red gaze was moving again. No one noticed the exchange.

By now Severus' heart was pounding. He had no idea how Harry would pull this off. The slightest misstep would be noticed instantly. The Death Eaters were riveted on the scene, taking in every detail. If the Dark Lord showed even a hint of reluctance or distress, the game would be up. All their sacrifices would be for nothing.

"Everyone's here, Igor," the Dark Lord spoke with chilling mockery. "Nothing to say?"

The man curled tighter, wheezing and gasping in his terror.

"Owen, Cole, Morgan. Come stand by me. I want Igor to be able to find you when he's ready to give thanks for being returned home."

The three men moved to stand by the sides of the Dark Lord's throne, eyes wide and bright.

Severus could only stand mute and watch as Harry masterfully became what he hated. The Death Eaters leaned forward, eager hounds on invisible leashes.

"I think we should welcome our lost brother home. Yes, one gift each, to show how much we've missed him." Harry let his eyelids drop in seeming contentment, the Dark magic whirling tighter and tighter around him. "Be sure not to render him speechless in his gratitude. He still has yet to thank his brothers for bringing him home, after all."

The Death Eaters obeyed instantly. They moved as one, a wave of sadistic hunger crashing down on their victim. Severus let himself be pushed forward with the crowd as Igor's sharp scream split the air. Each wizard delivered the most precise torture spell they knew, looking up at their Lord for approval afterward. The Dark Lord answered with a sadistic smile or a hum of pleasure that mimicked Voldemort perfectly.

The agonized cries, the vicious magic, the men around him shedding their humanity to revel in sadism at its purest, stained the night with a fevered brush. The scene took on a nightmare quality. Returned him to a past where the end of the nightmare meant it would be him being tortured into insanity and death.

Shivering, he stood before the wreck that once was Igor. It was his turn. Lord Voldemort's eyes were on him and he was absolutely terrified of being found out. _Spy. Traitor._ Desperation fed his spell. The creature – not human, a mere animal – gurgled as his ribs broke and shifted, regrowing within his lungs without causing enough damage to kill him. Now his each labored breath would be perfect agony.

Severus looked up at the Dark Lord – _cold, so cold_ – needing and hating his Lord's favor. Red eyes pierced him to his marrow. He instinctively pulled the Dark mists of his Occlumency tighter around him, a protective blanket. But the eyes blinked, winking out for a fraction of a second. It was enough to shock Severus back to reality. Voldemort would never break eye contact first. This was _Harry_, not Voldemort.

He was pushed aside as the last few Death Eaters took their turn. Heart thumping, he forced his mind to hold onto the clarity he'd arrived with. Harry needed him to stay strong – to remain alert. His eyes darted from side to side, examining his fellow Death Eaters. Did any suspect the Dark Lord? Were any unsatisfied? So far, none seemed to suspect, but the crucial moment was not yet past.

The last Death Eater stepped away, his _gift_ bestowed. All eyes returned to the Dark Lord, waiting for the grand finale, the coup de grace. Severus stared, as well. Could Harry do it?

"Did you enjoy your presents, Igor?"

The Dark Lord stood and walked gracefully to the broken man. Blood splashed under his feet. Torn flesh, seared and shredded, clung to the hem of the long black robes. Magic lifted Karkaroff to what had once been his knees and held him steady. Gently, the Dark Lord stroked the grey-streaked hair.

"Are you not grateful, Igor, to be home?"

Sobs were his answer.

The Dark Lord laughed – chilling, heartless, and inhuman. "Oh, forgive me. I've forgotten the feast. Every party needs a feast."

Severus held his breath, sickened that this was _Harry_ speaking, that he was being forced to this madness.

"Since I've forgotten dinner, I must find you something else to eat. You are so _dreadfully_ hungry, after all."

The Dark Lord's magic struck, and Igor moaned. All his fear and pain fell away in the face of the unspeakable hunger growing in him. "Please… so hungry…" Blood sprayed from his lips, gums broken and bleeding, teeth still horrifically intact.

"Never say I don't provide for my servants." He lifted Karkaroff's arm, baring the untouched forearm with the Dark Mark. "Since you hate it so much, why don't you eat this?"

Igor lunged forward and began to eat his own arm. His blunt teeth made him work at it, chewing and sawing, grunting like an animal as blood flowed and flesh tore away.

Severus briefly closed his eyes while the Death Eaters laughed and laughed. Harry had done it. There would be no doubts about him after this. But he wondered if it was worth it. _Merlin, Harry, what are we doing to you?_

**O**

Voldemort sat up drenched in sweat, his palm slick with blood as it pressed desperately at his searing scar. He was aware of nothing else, it was so painful. Not of his agonized whimpers, not of his tears.

Ever so slowly, the agony abated and he could think again. The first thing he became aware of was shock. _Merlin's beard, Potter tortured Karkaroff to death!_ He could literally feel an epiphany slowly dawning. It was a tingling that travelled up from his stomach, and he gasped as it pulled him under.

The scar… their connection… He'd been in Potter's mind… More importantly, he _felt_ what Potter felt… And it hadn't been Potter in those moments. The feral bloodlust, the voracious sadism… It was like being home, like looking in a mirror… In those moments, it wasn't Potter… It was as if he were looking through Potter – through suppressed revulsion, horror, and fear – to see a shadow of himself…

… Potter was a Horcrux!

If it weren't for Dumbledore's Pensieve lessons that made him remember his childhood and his Horcruxes, if it weren't for experiencing a vision from Potter's viewpoint, he may never have realized the truth. Somehow he'd done it twice; created a Horcrux and bound it to a living vessel. It was supposed to be impossible, but he'd proved he could do it with Nagini. Why not a human Horcrux, too? The consequences of the discovery rippled through his mind, dominoes clicking rapidly down a long chain.

_And I almost killed the boy!_

Their every encounter twisted sideways as he saw them in a new light. The way the infuriating Gryffindor survived where none other could. Boy-Who-Lived, indeed! And the prophecy! He had never been able to figure out how in the world Potter could ever be his equal – in temperament, talent, intelligence, or deed – but now he understood. They shared the same _immortality_. They were _each other's_ immortality. In that sense, they were absolutely equal.

Neither can live while the other survives. Taking on the surface, it seemed to be the difference between merely surviving and actually having a life, that neither would be able to reach their goals while the other was around. But if the positive of a statement is true, then the negative should also be true. He is rich; he is not poor. Voldemort had never thought to test the final line by reversing it into its negative: Both cannot die if neither dies.

In that case, if one of them were to die, the other could then die as well. Voldemort felt his breath catch. _No,_ he thought, calming himself. _I have more than one Horcrux. I am safe. _

But that wasn't absolutely true anymore, was it? Glazed green eyes stared blankly, his thoughts and heart racing. Dumbledore knew he'd made Horcruxes. Voldemort didn't think the old fool knew exactly how many, but he knew about the diary – He'd kill Lucius when he saw him again for not telling him! – and suspected the ring and the locket. If one could be destroyed, the others could as well.

Surely Dumbledore didn't suspect Potter of being a Horcrux. It was so impossible. Not even Voldemort had considered it before now. Discovering what the old fool knew was even more important than ever. However, there was some consolation. Even if Dumbledore did realize what Potter contained, he wouldn't kill the boy.

Voldemort smiled. He was more protected than even he ever knew. It also explained the ease in which Potter now used the Dark Arts. Regardless of the body's familiarity with working Dark magic, you still had to be able to manipulate the magic correctly. Using magic was both a physical and mental process. Unfortunately, the Horcrux gave Potter access to the mentality of the Dark and Voldemort's body gave him access to the physically working Dark magic. That made him a Dark Lord in truth, not just image. Worse, Voldemort couldn't match that yet.

After all the effort he'd put forth that summer, using all the experience and control he'd gained over the decades, Potter's body was well-prepared to use higher Light magic. However, Voldemort still had to fully understand the mentality behind the magic, which was not so simple for someone who is inherently Dark. In the end, that was most likely a good thing. Dumbledore would get suspicious if he mastered the spells too quickly.

But Potter suffered no such problems. Voldemort now realized that it was due to Potter tapping into the soul-shard in his possession. No wonder the Boy Hero was so anguished. He had drastically conflicting instincts and had no idea one set was completely foreign. Voldemort wouldn't be surprised if the boy were eventually driven insane.

Laughing suddenly, he lay back down amongst red pillows. This was dangerous, but it worked in his favor, too. One thing was certain. He'd have to stop trying to kill the brat for now. At least until he fully understood their relationship and the hidden context of the prophecy.

Smug, he closed his eyes and slipped into a happy sleep.

**O**

Harry paced furiously, his steps sharp and jerky. He'd done worse than torture a helpless, broken man, and, instead of horror, he felt absolutely and gloriously powerful. Euphoria washed through him like a soaking rain. He'd fed on the adoring looks his followers had given him when Igor _finally_ died.

The grotesque image of a human hand, whole and untouched, splattered with red blood, sitting on two delicate bones like a stripped buffalo wing almost made him puke. His stomach rolled and pitched, and he felt almost torn in two as the Dark slowly retreated, leaving him clear-headed once more.

What he'd done was _disgusting!_ If Karkaroff was a threat, then kill him and be done! What _purpose_ does torture serve? It was repulsive and tainted the person responsible.

_God, I'm a __**monster**__!_ _How could I do that? How can I be capable of something like this? _

He _hated_ how wonderful it had felt for the Death Eaters to kneel next to the mutilated corpse and kiss his robes before they left, satisfaction rolling off them in almost tangible waves. Hated it, loved it. God, what was he going to do?

The bedroom door opened. Harry knew who it was and didn't stop his frantic pacing. His nails bit into his arms. He wanted to tear off his flesh, wanted to escape this body, this role. He wanted to scream and never stop. He wanted to cry. He wanted free of the horrible contentment and pleasure that reveled in what he'd witnessed, reveled in what he'd _done_.

"My Lord?"

Harry couldn't speak. His throat locked in a battle to either laugh or vomit. Torn in two, he was being torn in two. A distressed keening sound reached his ears, and he glanced at Severus to see what was wrong. The man stood still and silent. The sound was coming from _him_.

"I like toffee," Severus spoke, his voice deep and calm, soothing as it had been that summer.

It took Harry several seconds to actually understand the nonsensical statement. "You like toffee," he repeated, voice hoarse and tight as it had been the night Severus had found him at Malfoy Manor.

"In moderation," he allowed. Dark eyes held his own, grounding him, giving him something external to concentrate on. "I trust you will keep it secret. It would ruin my reputation for the brats at school to learn that I eat sweets of any kind."

Harry laughed, a desperate sound. "What else do you like?"

"I'm partial to solitude, reading, and snow."

"Snow…"

"My father was a Muggle. I didn't particularly enjoy his company." The dark twist of the man's lips told Harry that this was a massive understatement. "However, he did take my mother and me skiing once when I was four. It was the last halfway decent memory we made together as a family, thus rendering me quite partial to the season."

Harry stared. He never would've thought Severus would speak so easily about a personal topic since he avoided them like a plague. He knew it was for his benefit, to help him regain his mental balance and not go barking mad, and he shouldn't take advantage of the offer, but he desperately wanted to know more.

"Tell me. Please."

Severus ducked his head, letting his hair curtain his face. "The French Alps have many places for skiing. One resort caters to wizards only. There are no metal contraptions littering the mountain side, just clean snow beneath you and the quiet wilderness. It's been years since I've gone."

Half-a-year ago, Harry would have found it impossible to visualize the Potions Professor of Hogwarts as someone who went skiing, but now he found it easy. Severus was lean and graceful, his body both stronger and more limber than one would assume. Harry was never more thankful than he was in that moment that his new face couldn't blush. His old one would have been tomato red at the tenor of his thoughts. He had an insane urge to giggle hysterically.

"I've never been," he whispered instead. "It sounds wonderful."

"Perhaps you will go one day."

Harry swallowed, unable to speak past the pain in his chest. It was a beautiful wish, but he couldn't bring himself to believe in it. There was nothing that beautiful in his future. Not anymore.

Severus studied him for a long minute. "You did what you must, Harry. Remember that. That wasn't you. It was who they made you become."

"It was me," he argued. Sickness sill churned in his gut, but thankfully the euphoria was gone completely. He **hated** how _good_ it felt.

"I know of what I speak." The tone of his voice forced Harry to listen in spite of himself. "Sometimes life forces you into unavoidable situations. Do not let it reduce you to the distorted image others see. You are more than that. You are better. You do what you must, but if you forget who you really are, then they will have won. If you believe their lies, then you will make it truth and you _will_ lose yourself. Remember, _Harry_. Remember the truth. Never forget who you _really_ are."

Tears burned the back of his eyes and throat. Severus _understood_. He'd done things he'd hated to preserve his position as a spy. He honestly understood the despair and fear. And he promised to remind Harry who he really was, remind him that as long as he hated what he was being forced to do, then he was safe, he was still whole. Hurt but whole.

"Thank you, Severus." He wrapped his arms around his chest tightly to keep from reaching out. Instead, he stared into dark, deep eyes and drank them in.

"I stand with you, Harry. Never forget that."

They fell silent after that; Harry settling onto the window seat and Severus at the desk. The quiet was comfortable and comforting. Harry let his mind go blank as he stared at the outside world, feeling safe in the other man's guarding presence. And slowly, slowly, the sky bled into dawn. The night was over. He'd endured. He'd survived.

**O**

Severus slipped into school a mere half-hour before breakfast. He hadn't gotten any sleep, but he wasn't tired. He felt cold reality breathing on the back of his neck. Perhaps he hadn't forgotten just what fearsome power and cruelty Voldemort had been capable of, but the impact had certainly been softened as he became accustomed to the new Dark Lord. Well, he was now cured.

Tonight, he'd been violently reminded of his old bone-deep fear, the bleak determination to survive, of living and breathing anxiety every moment of every day. It was a type of insanity, and Severus was not pleased to have been returned to that nightmare.

His confrontation with the pretender had been foolish, inevitable but foolish. He didn't know how Voldemort had discovered his awareness of the switch, but he'd certainly staged that confrontation very carefully. Severus had been maneuvered into a corner quite skillfully, but he didn't have to defy Voldemort quite so spectacularly, either.

It had been done. Severus would deal with it, as he dealt with all else in the wasteland that was his life. The only good thing that had come from this night was his increased determination to preserve Harry and see to Voldemort's downfall. Nothing mattered more.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Bad news, good news time. Bad news… Might be a week before the next chapter. Good news… I have written chapters 10 through 15. So once I get through chapter 7, 8, and 9, the updates will pick up speed once more. _(sigh)_ Hope I can keep up this pace! Lol!


	7. Dark Opportunity

**A/N:**This is rated **M** for Mature! Sexual situations ahead… _(blushes)_

**Dark Opportunity**

Harry moved his piece without really thinking about it. He knew that was a horrible mistake. Severus would take advantage instantly and use his distraction against him, but he couldn't stop worrying at where they stood. He usually avoided thinking about that summer. He had honestly hated Snape then. Now that he had a bit distance, he realized that Snape had been kind, too.

It threw him off balance. It wasn't bad, exactly. He needed Severus on his side to be able to pull this off, and them barely being able to talk to each other wasn't going to work. Harry hated to admit it, even if just to himself, but he was lonely. He missed talking to his friends. His thoughts drifted to their last meeting, where Severus had actually told him about himself. Maybe Harry could get more from the man. It would help him to see Severus as a person outside of Snape the professor who tormented him and the warden of his torment.

"What was getting your Hogwarts letter like," he asked as casually as he could, hoping to hide his nervously pounding heart.

Pale lips turned down at the edges in a thoughtful frown as Severus moved his rook to threaten Harry's bishop. The silence stretched. Harry affected an uncaring demeanor to cover his disappointment. Last week had been a fluke, obviously. Severus probably regretted saying as much as he had. He'd been a fool to think maybe they could be something like friends. But then Severus met his gaze, dark eyes staring intently. Harry held his breath. Severus broke their eye contact. When he spoke, his voice was low, calm.

"It wasn't a purely happy time for me as it was for many others. Born in November, my mother and I feared my letter wouldn't come until the next year. She'd been ill for a long time by that point and feared for my life should I be left at home alone with my father. Luckily the letter came despite my still being ten years of age. I remember my mother crying when she opened it. I was spared from being left alone in that house but not she." Severus lowered his head, hiding his hard expression and hateful eyes. "Instead of pride in my ability, I felt shame that I was leaving her. However, I could never do anything to help the situation, and I was honestly relieved to escape. So I went."

Harry stared at the chess board between them, hands fisted in his lap. He was both grateful for being trusted with the truth and disturbed by the picture those understated words painted. The silence was loud and he twisted his hands, knowing he should reciprocate. But it was so hard. Especially since it reminded him of their disastrous Occlumency lessons.

"I also had mixed feelings about the letter," he began carefully. "I had no idea what they were. My uncle destroyed them and grew angrier when more kept coming. I knew they were important to me, but I half wished they'd stop. The way he looked at me, I really thought that'd be the end. Then Hagrid literally knocked down a door to fetch me. I'd hoped for so long that it was all a lie – about my parents being worthless drunks and me being a disgusting freak – and Hagrid told me it was a bit of both. My parents weren't drunks, but they _were_ freaks. And so was I. Magic and murder, evil wizards and heroes. It was like falling down a rabbit hole."

Severus tilted him a bitter smile that included him instead of mocked. "Hogwarts wasn't the answer we'd hoped it'd be, was it?"

Harry felt relief, almost giddy with it. He felt more of his reservations fall away. "Well, no, but it was always interesting," he replied almost playfully.

Severus snorted. "Especially after a certain messy-haired Gryffindor started attending."

Harry smirked slyly. "Could've been worse. I could've been a Slytherin."

"Heaven forbid!" Severus looked honestly disturbed by the notion. "We'd never have been able to keep up with you."

He laughed. "Check," he added, eyes bright and happy for the first time in weeks.

"Is that your plan, Harry? Distract me so you actually have a chance of winning?"

"Of course not." He flashed him his most innocent look. No doubt it was ruined by Voldemort's visage, but sometimes he forgot he wasn't himself, especially around Severus. "That would be too Slytherin by half, and we both know I'm Gryffindor through and through."

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the suspicious glare thrown his way between stringy, black hair.

**xXxXxXx**

"Harry, can I talk to you?"

Voldemort closed the book he'd been reading. One of the best parts about coming back to Hogwarts – besides torturing Dumbledore, Draco, and Severus – was the library. However, he was very careful to glamour the covers of the books he read so Potter's watchdog-friends wouldn't realize he was researching advanced magic.

"Yes, Hermione?"

The girl looked around and seemed satisfied that there was no one else in their vicinity. "Look, Harry. You know you can trust us, right? I mean, I can see why you would be nervous to say something, but we're your best friends."

"What are you on about," he asked absently, his attention still on his book.

"You've got something going on with Malfoy. I saw you sneaking off to see him last night."

She definitely had his attention now. He wasn't prepared for the Gryffindors to discover their perfect little Potter was not so lily pure any longer. His confrontation with Severus made his image all the more important. There was a chance that it would come down to his word against the Potion Master's, and so far he was confident the old fool would choose his cookie-cut-out Savior over the washed-up spy. He couldn't allow that to change.

"I don't understand, but maybe I could if you told me about it. As it is, I'm worried about you," the girl blathered on, self-righteous and annoying.

Voldemort prepared himself for his best Potter performance yet. "Hermione… I… I wanted to tell you…" He ducked his head, eyes glancing around to see if anyone could overhear them. Lowering his voice despite seeing no one, he asked her to sit next to him. "At first, I didn't know if I could trust him. He's a Malfoy, but… after he told me what happened to him… I had to give him a chance, even if it was a small one…"

"What did he tell you?" she asked in a whisper, following his cues.

"You can't tell anyone. Draco trusts me to keep it private."

"Of course, Harry."

Voldemort made his face pale, his eyes wide in feigned anxiety. "He met the Dark Lord and was disgusted. Voldemort wasn't anything like what his father described as he grew up. It shocked him terribly. When he said as much to his father, expecting an explanation, well, Lucius _tortured_ him." If his need wasn't so great, he'd never be able to talk about himself so, but Granger would only accept an answer along these lines. Everything else would make her suspicious.

Hermione gasped softly, her hand coming up to her mouth.

With a private smirk, he continued. "It was awful. Especially for someone as spoiled and sheltered as Draco was. It almost broke him utterly." Voldemort paused in his story, thinking of how he should play this. To stall, he took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. Really, the best lies had a foundation of truth. "Draco's not stupid, mean-spirited and spoiled, but never stupid. He knew there's no such thing as being neutral in this war. So he decided to join my side. It was his only choice. He was so afraid…"

"So you've been meeting him since school started," she prodded softly when he trailed off.

"Yeah." He stared into her eyes, made his voice breathy with fear. "Just before Halloween, it became something more, though. I knew he was being honest by that point and I was thinking of telling you, but then I was so confused about what I felt and I…" He blushed and ducked his head, fists clenched before him.

"Oh, Harry…" Warm hands covered his own.

"I really like him, and it turns out he feels the same, so… We're together, I guess." He peeked at her to see how she took this bit of news. Her eyes were sympathetic, but she was still very cautious. The little Malfoy Heir had done some damage to Potter and his friends over the years. It wouldn't be forgotten lightly. He had to step up the game, appeal to her female nature. "Draco isn't like anyone else I know. He's so arrogant and competitive. There's this spark, this tension between us. And he's beautiful and courageous when he has to be. I know you can't see it. You don't really know the better sides to him, but he's not just a Malfoy. He's Draco, too."

"Why didn't you tell us," she asked, disappointed.

Voldemort gave a bitter laugh and pulled his hands away as if ashamed. "The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Gay. I can just see the headlines now. Come on, Hermione. I'm an icon. They want me to be completely perfect. I'm supposed to grow up and marry some Light witch, probably Ginny or something, and have lots of little Potters..."

"Harry Potter! I would never think less of you. Not over something like this. You're like a brother to me."

He grabbed her hand, staring pleadingly into her face. "But it's Draco. I… I was afraid you'd think I'm betraying you or something… but I can't… not see him, Hermione. I was afraid you'd make me choose…" He bit his lip, mentally cheering as she literally melted into his hands. "It would kill me to choose between you now, and I'm so sick of hurting all the time. He makes me forget, makes me happy."

"Then I'll have to get used to it." She smiled at him, teary-eyed. "You're right. I don't really know Draco very well. I trust your judgment. If you see something of worth in him, then I will have to learn to see it, too."

He pulled her into a tight hug. "Thanks, Hermione. I should have told you a long time ago. I was being stupid."

"I'm used to it by now," she teased, hugging him back tightly. "And don't worry about Ron. I'll talk to him."

"Thanks," he murmured, thrilling in the feel of her soft breasts against his chest.

Draco was fun and all, but maybe he should look for a female toy as well. It wasn't like he'd have to go begging. There were dozens of girls who'd wet their pants for the chance to have sex with Harry Potter. Even if another long-term toy like Draco proved to be too much work, he could certainly find a few one-nighters. A truly terrifying smile slid across his face and he hid it against the Mudblood's shoulder.

**xXxXxXx**

A knock on the door drew Harry's attention from the ancient tome spread open before him. He frowned. The Death Eaters never disturbed him unless it was an emergency, instead saving their reports and concerns for the weekly meeting Harry held in the throne room.

"Come in," he called, bracing himself for whatever disaster would follow. The last time he was disturbed, it led to Karkaroff's torture and death.

Lucius slipped into the room and knelt before the desk, bowing his head before rising. "I have news, my Lord."

"What news, Lucius?"

"The Light is moving. Amelia Bones is pressing for the secrecy spell to be lifted from the Muggle Prime Minister so he can consult more freely with his advisors should a crisis occur of a magical nature."

Harry did a quick sweep with Legilimency. Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, an Order of the Phoenix member. "You can't stop this?" Harry's voice was dangerously cold, hopefully hiding his pounding heart and sweaty palms.

Lucius paled. "My Lord, many of us have had our influence diminish after the attack on the Ministry, and Dumbledore has swayed many to fear any who might have a Dark nature. I've made Cornelius hesitate to allow this, but the Wizengamot can overrule him. I believe it is leaning that way, my Lord."

Dumbledore was a member of the Wizengamot, Harry knew. His fists clenched. He understood that the Headmaster felt he needed to prepare for a devastating war, not knowing of the switch or Harry's intentions as the Dark Lord, but _why_ did he insist on involving the Muggle community? It wouldn't help him win the war. He would do better to focus on defensive strategies and information gathering. Even an amateur at tactics like Harry knew that much.

Lucius was staring at him expectantly, blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Harry felt the man's growing anxiety, his restless dissatisfaction over his standing among the other Death Eaters. Especially since it seemed Harry favored the older members. If he wasn't careful, the man would begin to suspect something was different with his Lord. He'd already blocked Lucius' attempts to strike out at the Light to protect Fred and George. Plus, he couldn't hold the Death Eaters back completely from spilling blood. This _was_ war, even if it was now a different one. He had no choice. None.

"You've done well in bringing this to my attention. _Dumbledore_," he hissed, summoning his very real irritation with the man, "has gone too far."

"My Lord."

Lucius practically vibrated, he held himself so still. Harry let his eyes fall half-closed lazily as he listened to his quick breathing. It was as if he were seeing Lucius for the first time. This was someone who enjoyed cruel power-plays and craved the purest form of power – that of holding someone's life in your hand.

"This will be a small mission. Fenrir has been promised predominance in the next action taken against the Light. I am trusting you to keep him under control and to make sure this unravels flawlessly." Harry let Dark magic swell and caress his servant to indicate his pleasure. Lucius shivered, red staining his fair cheeks. "Bones has no care for the future of the Wizarding world. Therefore, she shall be removed from it. Capture her. Show her the error of her ways. Then release her back to the Light so that she can correct her mistake and tell those in charge she changed her mind about this Muggle motion. Be sure she dies not long after."

"Yes, my Lord. All will be as you say." Lucius bowed deep, obviously excited.

"Don't forget to question her about the Order, Lucius. We need to know what the Light is planning."

"Of course, my Lord." With another bow, he left the room, his stride purposeful and strong.

Alone, Harry felt chilled. The Dark wasn't some misunderstood noble cause. It was dangerous and, well, _dark_. Their beliefs were justified perhaps, but that didn't erase the fact that the Dark reveled in destruction and the freedom gained by disregarding all morality and civilized behavior. It was a primal and violent force, and so were its followers. He couldn't change it or the Death Eaters. If he tried, he'd only lose control of them.

_It has to be this way,_ he reassured himself. _If it weren't for the switch, Voldemort would have done worse._

He knew this, but it didn't stop the anguish and regret. His stomach rolled with nausea. Miserably, he wondered if Susan Bones, fellow Hogwarts student and member of the DA, was related to Amelia, Head of MLE. He wondered if it would feel like her heart had been ripped from her chest when she heard the news.

_Sirius_

With a shaking hand, Harry covered his eyes and tried to find the quiet place in his mind, to escape – just for a little while.

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort watched as the Slug Club disbanded, the students wandering out in pairs and small groups still talking. Slughorn had done well. Each child was either exceptionally skilled – like Granger – or abnormally well connected – like Geoffrey Hooper. They met a few times now, every other Saturday night, and already Voldemort was making progress with over half of them. They often discussed school work, offering each other help, and talked about politics (though not the war). Soon, if Slughorn followed the same pattern as last time, he'd encourage them to grant each other favors during breaks and the summer, further entangling them in a political give and take.

His eyes caught on the sole Slytherin invited to the club, Blaise Zabini.

Slughorn wanted nothing to do with the war and rather naively thought if he excluded those rumored to have an alliance with the Dark, he'd be safe. Little did he know Voldemort was right next to him and well aware of the knowledge he held. So it was strange that the well known neutral Zabini was so antagonistic toward 'Harry Potter'. It went beyond mere House rivalry, for the black boy treated the other Gryffindors with politeness and indifference.

Voldemort frowned, honestly disturbed. He detested ignorance, and the fact that he couldn't unravel the Slytherin's motives annoyed him greatly. The only access he had to Slytherin was through Draco. The clueless blond insisted Zabini had no particular grudge against him. The cold blue eyes and disdainful sneers told a different story, however.

"Are you coming tonight, Harry?"

Voldemort smiled at the bulky seventh year Gryffindor. "I'll be there in a minute, Jeff. I want to ask Slughorn something."

"Don't be too late. It's bad luck to miss the first hand."

"I don't need luck when I've got skill," Voldemort bantered back.

The wealthier students gathered once a month to play poker and other card games in a sixth floor abandoned classroom. This was the first game he'd been invited to, and it had taken a week of being overly friendly with Hooper to earn. He definitely wouldn't miss it, not after all that work. His business with old Horace wouldn't take long.

"Ah, Harry, is there something you need?" The fat man smiled at him beatifically, reminding Voldemort of a clueless child.

"I want to ask you something, sir," he answered with shy sweetness that the teacher swallowed whole.

"Of course, dear boy. You can ask me anything."

Voldemort made his green eyes wide, all the while slipping oh so carefully through the man's thoughts. "Is immortality possible?" He purposefully used the same phrasing as he had all those years ago to hopefully trigger the memory he was looking for.

Slughorn paled, his jovial expression disappearing. "Why do you ask?"

"Something Dumbledore said. It's my destiny to stop – well, you know. He can't be immortal, then, right? Real immortality doesn't exist."

"I don't know…" Slughorn was sweating now, panic speeding his heart.

"I mean, in second year, Dumbledore told me about the Flamels. They could live forever, but once the stone was destroyed, they began to die. So it wasn't true immortality. Not like Fawkes, right? You know who has a weakness like the stone, too, don't you think?"

"I'm afraid I really can't help you, Harry."

"Oh." Voldemort adopted a crestfallen expression. "Well, thanks anyway."

"Anytime, Harry. Now I really have to see to these papers and you have a poker game to get to." Slughorn tried to smile, but it was strained.

"Oh! You won't tell anyone, will you, Professor? It's just a little game, and we go straight to bed right after!" He wondered if he was laying it on too thick. Surely he sounded like an idiot, but it seemed to work. The old man relaxed and this time his smile was more genuine.

"Your secret is safe with me. I remember there being a few poker nights in my time here, as well. Now go, go. I wouldn't want to keep you."

"Thanks, Professor!"

Voldemort practically skipped down the hall. Slughorn was no threat. The man was absolutely terrified. He remembered the beginning of their conversation, but had altered everything after. Instead of going into detail about Horcruxes, in his new memory, he sent Voldemort out from the room. But the man knew that wasn't the truth, knew it was a false memory. Even though he couldn't remember what really happened, he was aware that the truth could get him killed. He'd once been aware of the Dark Lord's secret, which was normally a death sentence. Yes, the man's terror pleased him. He was so cowardly that he probably destroyed the original memory. If not, he certainly wouldn't hand it over to Dumbledore and invite Voldemort's wrath. Not when he went to so much trouble to save himself.

"Harry! Wait for me!"

He'd been so distracted, that he'd gone past Granger without even noticing and now the girl was almost running to keep up with him. He sighed, his good mood waning. "What is it?"

She blinked at him. How someone supposedly smart could look like a stupid cow was beyond him. "Are you really going to go gambling with Hooper? It's almost past curfew as it is and gambling is against school rules, not to mention a horrible habit. Do you think your parents would approve of spending your vault this way?"

He slammed her against the wall hard enough to make her head bounce. His vision had gone red in his rage, and he wished so badly to curse her. Fortunately, all the spells that came to mind were Dark ones he couldn't cast any longer. It gave him time to collect himself. It would be bad to hurt one of Potter's little friends. But bloody hell she was annoying! How dare she question and scold him. It was never ending, and he'd had enough.

She whimpered in pain, eyes huge in her pale face. His enjoyed the look. Especially the way her chest heaved with every frightened breath.

"Don't talk about my parents," he growled, scrambling for an explanation for his outburst. "They're dead. I never got to know what they'd think about anything. And I'm sick of you acting like I'm some kind of idiot! Of course I'm going to be careful, but it's just a game. I'm allowed to have a bit of fun. I think Sirius would have approved." He made a chocked up nose and was pleased to see her expression melt from terror to concern. "Just leave me alone, Hermione."

He strode down the hall, happy again. That would buy him a couple days of peace, at least. And soon he'd have the wealthier kids in school under his thumb in addition to the Slug Club. It was definitely time to play a little poker.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry mentally braced himself as he strode across the throne room, readying himself for the weekly Death Eater meeting. This one especially promised to be draining. He had to report the success of Lucius and Fenrir's mission. He took his seat and stared down at his followers as they arrived in twos and threes. Finally, the last Death Eater arrived.

"Lucius, Fenrir, come stand by me." They did so with straight backs and gleaming eyes. Harry gave his followers a blood-thirsty smile. "These two have pleased me. Their mission was executed flawlessly, and now the Light has been diminished. Better, they protected the Security Act. Let their work be an example to all of you. They captured Amelia Bones, Head of MLE, despite her ability and defenses, and escaped again without alerting the Light. They moved in perfect Darkness and secrecy. This is the standard I hold you all to."

The Death Eaters shifted, taking in the two proud men. Harry let them stew for a moment before letting his eyes settle on Caiden Rosier.

"How do we progress with the papers?"

"The old ways continue to increase in popularity. However, the Wizarding world is in turmoil right now over Bones' death."

"Are they printing why she was killed," Harry demanded. It would piss him off if she died without them gaining something from it.

"No, my Lord. They say only that she was killed for her position in MLE. The Light is using it to incite the neutrals further against us."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This will be fixed, Rosier."

Several Death Eaters flinched at his anger and the use of Caiden's last name. Curses weren't long to follow at this rate.

"It will be as you say, my Lord," he answered calmly.

"Dolohov, what is your progress at Durmstang?"

"I'm gaining trust, my Lord," the man groveled, bowed low. "Several are ready and willing to join you."

"Brothers Lestrange. Deal with the new recruits. Assign them jobs to help our cause but not put my plans at risk. Make it clear only the best will be marked."

"My Lord," Rabastan and Rudolphus said together, lowering their heads.

"My Lord, if I may?"

"Go ahead, Atticus," Harry allowed with a flick of his fingers.

"The Ministry raided one of my family manors. They search for Dark artifacts and evidence of a connection to you, my Lord," the old man reported with cold eyes. "Several things of value were taken. I believe the other Dark noble families should be prepared for similar experiences."

Harry felt his heart begin to race. He could feel their outrage grow, twinned with the expectation that their Lord would do something about it. "Defend your homes and possessions, but do not act to overtly. If needed, you can store items here for safe keeping." Harry almost laughed. That would let him keep an eye on the more dangerous items as well as something Voldemort really would have done, greedy bastard that he was. "In time, the Ministry will be forced to return things to their rightful place."

It was perhaps a bit vague, but he wasn't ready to attack the Ministry yet. Still, he backed it up with a vicious smile to assuage his followers and it was reflected back at him. Harry shivered and hoped no one noticed.

Belfry Goyle hesitantly lifted his head. "My Lord, you are most likely aware already, but my son tells me Potter acts strange. He's drifting slightly from his core group of friends and is behaving almost like a Slytherin. Making connections with the wealthier and more politically connected students."

Harry narrowed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was icy. "I am aware of the situation. But it is good to inform me of your son's observations. Just make sure you pass along facts and not merely gossip."

Goyle flinched. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you."

In truth, he had no idea what was happening at Hogwarts. It was too painful to talk about, so he avoided it. Strangely, Severus had let him. No longer. He had to keep aware, if only to keep pace with the Death Eaters. He couldn't let them be more informed than he. Any weakness would have him devoured by these men.

"My Lord," Thornfinn Rowle spoke into the short silence that followed. "I notice Severus misses many of these meetings. I've yet to hear an accounting of his progress."

Harry sensed a trap in these words and reacted immediately. "Crucio!"

The big man fell with a wheeze and grunt, just barely holding back screams. Harry held it for almost two minutes before sharply flicking his wand and letting the man go.

"You are a powerful dueler and a useful tool, Rowle, but do not overstep yourself. It is not your place to question. Merely obey."

"Yes, my Lord. Forgive me," Rowle rasped as he clumsily pushed to his knees. His hood had fallen back, revealing his sweat-soaked face.

"Does anyone else have anything to add?" He glared hotly at them and was pleased when none spoke up. "Dismissed. Lucius, stay behind."

The Lord Malfoy stood relaxed and poised as the others left. Fenrir practically strutted from the room. Harry saw a few jealous glances thrown the feral wolf's way and almost sighed. Fenrir was the last person they should emulate.

"My Lord," Lucius asked oh so respectfully once they were alone.

Harry hissed a Dark hex. The blond fell with a groan of agony. The skin of his right arm stretched and swelled as water filled the appendage steadily. Within minutes the skin split under the pressure. Lucius screamed as water and blood gushed from the tears, landing on the floor with a quiet splash. Harry incanted the spell again, this time on the man's right calf. Lucius shrieked, tears streaking his face.

"Next time don't use a proxy to question me, Lucius," he hissed quietly. "Severus is where I want him. It's no concern of yours."

"My Lord! Yes!"

The grotesque limb split apart, the skin bruised, tight, and shinny. Harry hadn't even had to descend into the Dark inside himself. This was all him. He wondered how much of his fury was because Lucius threatened Severus and how much was because Harry was still angry about Bones. Whatever the source, he coldly cast the torture spell once more, this time on the man's right thigh. Lucius was incoherent now, keening like a wounded animal. Harry turned his face away, sickened even as he felt justified. Lucius had certainly done worse to others, he knew.

"Get out of my sight," he hissed furiously.

Harry was so _angry_. At himself, at Malfoy for being a sadistic arse, at the world for forcing him to become this creature. He forced himself to watch as Lucius literally crawled from the room, dragging his right leg behind him. He left behind a wide smear of blood-tainted water. This was the result of losing his temper. He almost screamed. The sight of his own cruelty enraged him further. He stormed from the throne room, heading for his sanctuary. He needed a drink to steady his nerves. Or maybe two or three.

**O **

Utterly exhausted, Severus made his way to the Dark Lord's study. He'd be worthless at chess tonight, but he couldn't refrain from attending their weekly meeting. He'd come to need them. They kept him sane and granted him some relief from Hogwarts if only for a few hours.

He knocked once on the solid oak door, a quick rap before slipping inside. The door shut behind him, and he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust. The room was even darker than normal. Slowly he was able to make out the Dark Lord sitting behind his ornate desk, but instead of the relaxed red gaze he'd become accustom to, Harry had his head back, eyes closed. His arms hung loosely on either side of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him.

"You look about how I feel," he drawled in amusement.

A single hand waved toward the desk, indicating two glasses of brandy. Severus moved to his customary chair and sipped at the rich drink. It was thick and warm, decadent. He hummed in approval. Slowly the liquor relaxed his muscles and warmed his belly. After a few minutes, he found himself slouching slightly, his head propped up by his right hand, his elbow braced on the arm of the sofa chair.

"It couldn't be avoided," Harry spoke softly, voice tight.

Severus knew instantly he was referring to Bones. He'd thought perhaps the Death Eaters had acted without permission and Harry had been forced to punish them, but now he knew Harry had known, had ordered it done. He closed his eyes, pained. "Tell me."

"She was pushing for the Secrecy Act to be changed, to allow more Muggles to be told of our existence."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I didn't know. Albus has been gone. He doesn't confide in me as he once did. Not since we've been arguing so much over the pretender." He tapped the desk to get his Lord's attention. "You did what you had to, Harry. What you must."

"It's still awful." Harry met his eyes briefly before closing them again. "How's Susan?"

"She's grieving," Severus relayed reluctantly. "Bones was her aunt. She raised Susan when her parents died in the first war."

"I tortured Lucius," Harry said, effectively changing the subject. "He insinuated your unworthiness at tonight's meeting."

He snorted. "How tedious for you. That man always did let his ambition carry him away." He was pleased to receive a wry smile and have the red-eyed gaze focus on him.

"I thought he was your friend. You're Draco's godfather, right?"

Severus didn't want to think about Draco. He'd planned on attending the meeting tonight, but he'd found Draco sobbing in a bathroom on his way. It had taken him almost an hour to soothe the boy and he'd given him a sleeping draught in the end. No doubt, despite his misery, he'd go running back to the pretender when he was calm again. Exhaustion washed over him again. This time it was he who shut his eyes.

"Sometimes. Slytherins aren't friends like Gryffindors. It's never unconditional; instead it's governed by the tide of life. That's not to say we can't be supportive or loyal, only that we must be aware of the relationship at all times, aware of the changes."

"I understand." There was a slight pause and he cracked open an eye to see his Lord staring at him pensively. "I need an update about Hogwarts."

Severus knew this had been coming, but he still flinched a bit inside. "As I said, Albus is gone on some secret business. Minerva has taking over most of the Headmaster's duties while he is away. In turn, I've been roped into helping her. I'm practically bogged down with paper work." He took a breath and carefully entered a topic he needed to be careful to tread. The Unbreakable Vow hummed unpleasantly in his mind, warning him. "The Pretender is gaining more control over those in school, and …" _my godson is breaking,_ he finished silently, unable to speak the true source of his distress.

"And?"

He opened his eyes to see Harry watching him intensely. If he didn't know better, he'd think his Lord was trying to Legilimize him. "And I'm tired," he answered, praying Harry left it at that. He didn't know what would happen if his bond to the Dark Lord came into conflict with the vow.

Harry studied him a moment longer. It was clear he knew something was being left unsaid, but to Severus' relief, he nodded once and let the matter drop. They sat in comfortable silence of the rest of the meeting, just resting in each other's undemanding presence.

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort followed the soft sounds of crying to a nook behind a suit of armor. A sixth or fifth year girl with a Hufflepuff crest sat with her face pressed to her knees. Skimming her thoughts, he almost grinned. She was related somehow to Amelia Bones. Her mine was saturated with vulnerability and grief. Lust almost took his breath away as he looked down on her bowed shoulders. His pleasure was heightened by the knowledge that taking advantage of the girl would hurt Potter. The blasted boy was making even more progress, even moving to have Bones removed! He couldn't let the upstart think he could replace Voldemort without retaliation.

"Hey. It's okay." He sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She sniffed and clung to him. "No one understands," she rasped.

"I will," he offered.

She hesitated, but then soon was ranting about her friends acting like this should make her stronger or something. That she should be strong even though her Aunt was dead, and so on and so forth. Voldemort didn't really listen. He kept his face sympathetic while he plotted. Eventually she was sobbing into his chest and he rocked her back and forth. This was going _perfectly_.

"You can't let them win, Susan," he told her. "It's okay to be weak sometimes. It's okay to fall apart."

She nodded, sniffling.

His lips brushed her temple. "If you fight back, you'll do it your way."

"You mean the DA?" She pulled back to stare at him with watery eyes.

"We'll start it up again. Together," he told her, reading her mind. "Come on."

Voldemort took her hand and guided her to the room she saw in her mind. In his time, he'd used the room but didn't fully understand its potential. Another thing to feel vexed at Potter about. The Room of Requirement, how perfect. He opened the door to reveal a dimly lit lounge. Susan looked at him curiously.

"Let's get you cleaned up. You don't want them to see you like this," he explained gently, still holding her hand.

She blushed and let him guide her to a couch. A shallow bowl with a cool damp rag sat next to it on a low table. Voldemort gently cleaned her face. She let him, smiling tearfully at him. He sensed resistance still, and felt his way through dismantling it.

"I know how it feels, Susan. To think you're helpless to fight back, that they've already won. There's no point in going on when you've already lost what you would've fought for."

"Yes… exactly…" she gasped, tears in her voice again.

"It's okay to feel like giving up, Susan. I feel like that all the time. My friends don't understand either. They want me to keep fighting, but we're allowed a moment of weakness. We are." He hugged her and she melted against him. "I always thought we could be good friends. I'm glad I found you."

"Really?" She sniffed and wiped at her face, her blue eyes boring into him oh so innocently.

"Yes, of course. You're a strong, beautiful witch. Why wouldn't we be friends?"

"Harry…"

"I know it hurts," he continued. "I just want to help you forget for awhile. Because we're friends."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. At first she sat unresponsive, her surprise filling Voldemort's head, but as he knew would happen, she began to respond. As the kiss progressed, Voldemort used all his skill to seduce her into a lustful haze, letting his magic swirl and coax her own. Her heart beat fast against his chest as he ran his hands in her hair, over her neck, caressed her face.

When she relaxed completely, he let his hand wander over her chest, gently rubbing her breasts as he sucked and bit at her neck. Susan arched and moaned. Voldemort made similar sounds, knowing it would increase her desire. When his hand slipped up her shirt, her robe discarded on the floor, she tensed. He soothed her by kissing her deeply, pulling back just enough to whisper against her swollen wet mouth.

"It's okay. It's just us here. Let everything else go. I want to make you feel good. Just for a little while. Let's forget together."

He kissed her gently, coaxingly, a soft moan escaping his throat, and she melted again, wrapping her arms around him. Slowly his fingers caressed the heated skin, teased the sensitive places until she was a panting mess. Her eyes were dilated, her mind incoherent and overwhelmed with sensation. He slipped her shirt off, now using his mouth on all the places he'd discovered that made her undulate against him.

"Harry… Harry…"

"Susan, oh Merlin, so beautiful. Feels so good…" he chanted back to her, making her shiver and open more to his ministrations.

Overwhelmed, out of control, slightly afraid, she reached for him. He made her forget the fear, made her only able to feel the pleasure he wrapped her in. Until the body's needs drowned her thoughts completely. He waited for just that fevered moment before allowing his hand to slip up her skirt. The intimacy shocked her, made her tense.

"Wait, wait…"

He made his voice low and hypnotic as his magic caressed her with a mild calming charm. It was just enough to soothe her fear without removing the lust he'd been carefully building. "Trust me. I won't let anything hurt you, Susan. Just forget everything. Don't think. Just relax," he whispered into her ear, kissing and sucking along her jaw until he reached her mouth. As he teased her clit, she cried out, tension disappearing under a primal wave of lust and need. "That's it. I've got you."

He let her slide close to the edge but wouldn't allow her to orgasm. He did it twice more and now she was practically begging him for release. Tears once more drenched her flushed face. He kissed her hard, passionately, and she responded hotly, her legs falling open. With a smooth push, he let two fingers enter her. He quickly felt around and groaned when he found she was a virgin.

"Oh Susan… need you so bad…"

"Harry…" almost delirious she could hardly speak his name.

Voldemort grinned against her neck and reached down to free himself from his pants. Slowly he thrust inside. She arched, clinging, overwhelmed, but unable to stop herself or him. He moved in smooth thrusts, murmuring and moaning his pleasure. Slowly she relaxed, and still sobbing, they both climaxed together.

He soothed her tears as she slowly came down from the physical high. He stroked her hair and told her how wonderful she was, how perfect it had been. When her trembling eased, he helped her dressed, kissing her frequently and rubbing his hands down her arms and over her back.

"I wish I could stay here forever with you," Voldemort said sadly, kissing her chastely.

"What…"

"The Quidditch game… I told Ron I'd go and watch him play, and you should cheer for your team, too."

"Yeah…" she said dazed, staring at him almost desperately. She was shocked over what they'd done together.

He smiled at her. "I'll come find you tomorrow. We still have to get the DA together."

"Okay," she nodded, feeling more reassured. "Yes. I'd like that."

"Me, too." He kissed her and led her to the door. "Come on. We'll need to run to catch the beginning of the game." He flashed her a happy grin and she smiled back. Hand and hand they ran for the Quidditch pitch and the Hufflepuff/Gryffindor game.

**End chapter**

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, but it really wasn't my fault! My computer died a painful death. I tried to have it fixed, but it was deemed unsalvageable and so I had to buy a new one. All of which took time. Time where I didn't have a computer to type! Hopefully I'll be able to continue without further delay.


	8. Warfare

**A/N: **Deep and humble thanks to Saltwater! _(gives a bow)_

**Warfare**

Hermione was about to punch him. Really she was. "Ron!"

"What?" He pulled off his dirty Quidditch shirt and grabbed his school button-down. "I've been busy. We barely won against Hufflepuff last week! _Hufflepuff_, Hermione!"

"What's more important to you? Being Quidditch captain or a good friend?" She was practically screeching at this point. "You find plenty of time to snog Lavender!"

Ron's face turned red. "Is that what this is about?"

"No!" Her hands turned into claws. "I don't care who you bloody snog! I want you to pay attention to your best bloody friend!"

"It's not like he's begging for my attention and I turned him away!"

"Exactly!" She burst into tears, frustrated and upset. It was either that or kill him. And suddenly she was just too exhausted to fight anymore.

Ron instantly looked uncomfortable. He patted her shoulder. When she didn't yank away, he pulled her into a careful hug. "Hey, it's okay. Really. He's just going through some stuff. And is it really a big deal if he and Susan get together? I don't know why that bothers you. Besides, he said they were just friends, right?"

"Ron, we're losing him!" She wiped at her face miserably. "He's gone through so much. We have to help him."

"All right. We'll help him."

She nodded and wondered if she should tell him about Harry really liking boys, that he and Malfoy were together. That she was afraid they'd gotten into a fight and might break-up, and she was worried Harry might try to deny his sexuality if that happened.

_No_, she decided. _I can't tell him why I'm so worried. I need them to be friends again before Ron finds out anything. _

Harry was just acting so differently lately, hanging around with people because of their position instead of who they were, possibly leading Susan on, things she never thought her Harry was capable of. Ron going off would only make things worse. It would be better for Harry if he didn't find out just yet. And maybe it was a bit out of revenge. The way he and Lavender were all over each other was disgusting! He didn't deserve to know Harry's secrets.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus was cleaning the classroom up from the last Defense class of the day when there came a soft knock on the door. He scowled, not in the mood to deal with more teenage ineptitude. The weekly Death Eater meeting would start in two hours, and he was determined not to miss it this time.

"Severus?"

The soft call had him instantly spinning around. "Draco. Are you well?" He strode smoothly across the room, gesturing Draco to a desk while he shut and warded the door.

The blond stood behind the chair, hands white along the back. "Those signs… you know… the ones you told me last week…"

Severus held his breath. It took all his skill to keep a bland expression. "What about them?"

Draco bit his lip, keeping his face averted, his eyes down. "I don't speak to my friends much anymore. I am dropping my hobbies and focusing on his. A majority of my thoughts are about him. When we're together, I tend to do what he wants instead of what I want. If he's hurting me, I don't say anything because I'm afraid of upsetting him. I… I don't much recognize myself anymore. I mean, you found me bloody crying yesterday because I saw him holding Bones' hand when he walked her to Potions last week."

"And?" Severus could hardly talk past the fierce hope constricting his chest. "What will you do about this obsession?"

"I don't like what I've become. I've become weak, but not all of it is bad." For the first time, Draco lifted his head. His eyes were shadowed, tired. His face was drawn and pale. He didn't look well. "Some of these things may be signs of unhealthy obsession, but some of it is just being in love… I think I'm in love with him, Severus."

Severus clenched his fists to keep from reaching out and shaking the boy. "Draco, please, don't you remember telling me that you hated him? That you absolutely despised him?"

Draco ducked his head, ashamed. "I was just upset."

Severus moved closer, softening his voice. "Don't you think it's strange that you love the very person you sometimes loath? Can't you see that you're being manipulated? He's just using you, Draco."

Instantly the teen stiffened and closed off. "Maybe I'm doing things wrong, obsessing too much like you said, but Harry's not at fault. He loves me. I know he does. Thank you for helping me, but I can handle it from here."

Severus waited for his godson to leave before spinning around and firing Blasting Curse after Blasting Curse at the dueling dummy in the corner. Within seconds it was reduced to splinters and puffs of cloth. Panting, Severus braced his forearm against the wall and hung his head. Insidious guilt and hatred crawled around inside him like worms under the skin. It ate him alive. He could hardly think around it, and the damned vow continued to tighten around him.

**O**

Draco left the Defense classroom with mixed emotions. He really wasn't sure what to think anymore. One thing he knew for certain, Severus meant well, but he couldn't understand. Not really. He'd never been in love before. He couldn't possible know how wonderful it felt to be with Harry. They may do some risqué things together, but it only brought them closer, made the experience more intense. It was incredible, and Draco wouldn't trade it for the world.

But he agreed with his godfather that he needed to regain a bit of his own standing. What if Harry stopped liking him because Draco had become weak? He wasn't about to let that happen. So he needed a plan to shake this preoccupation. He had to be productive and useful again. Strangely, he was having a hard time knowing where to begin.

"Hey, Draco." Blaise smiled as he came into the room, head lifting from homework. "Have you done your Charms essay yet?"

"No. I should do that, thanks!" School work! He could start by catching up in some of his classes where he'd fallen behind. Happy to have a direction to go in, he moved to his friend's side. "Can I join you?"

"Of course," Blaise answered, looking pleased.

Draco felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't really spent much time with him this year. "How's Babbling Brook," he asked with a sly grin. Blaise's little sister was quite the motor mouth.

The brunet laughed. "Great now that she has a sore throat. Been silent all week, Mother says."

Draco grinned. "Impossible."

"I thought so, too."

He was about to say something else when the bracelet on his wrist began to heat up. He instantly got to his feet. "Oh, I forgot I was supposed to do something. Can we do Charms later?" Draco gave him his best puppy-eyed look.

"Sure, Draco. Whenever's good for you."

Draco was already half-turned toward the door. "Thanks. See you later."

He hurried through the halls until he reached the second floor room that Harry and he had made their own. As soon as he stepped through the door, a hot mouth claimed his own. His back slammed against the wall and he arched with a gasp of pain. The welts from their last game hadn't quite healed yet.

"What's that for?" He wrapped his arms around Harry's slender waist, the pain already forgotten.

"Missed you," Harry answered. He pulled his glasses off and tossed them carelessly aside.

Draco fell into the green depths focused solely on him. Literally, his stomach did a slow roll, just as if he were falling from his broom. Harry was so bloody gorgeous.

"Hermione and Ron are riding me. I have no idea why they've become so annoying again. I thought I broke them of that habit."

Draco laughed and kissed him. "Poor Harry."

Harry smirked and bit his lip. "Not when I have you, right, Draco?"

"That's right. I enrich your life in so many ways," he bantered back.

Harry laughed.

Draco delighted in the sound. Only he could make Harry laugh like that. Outside this room, Harry had to pretend to be someone else. Be the Golden Boy everyone expected him to be. But Draco knew the real him. Draco knew that he was really a Slytherin at heart and sometimes hated the part he had to play. It was all so exciting. Severus was wrong. There was nothing unhealthy about their relationship. He didn't understand.

"Ah!"

Harry's nails scratched firmly at his back, fingering the raised, healing skin. "Been too long. Need you. Want you."

The pain wasn't so bad. Once he got over the hump, the pain made the pleasure that much more amazing. Draco loved it.

Harry led him over to the cushions. "You're so quiet tonight. Can't have that. Not doing my job properly if you're not screaming and begging."

Draco opened his eyes and smiled into the mischievous look of his lover. "Definitely lacking tonight, Potter. I hardly felt that."

"Oh Draco…" Harry kissed him ever so softly, his eyes warm as his hand cupped his face.

Draco melted, the half-formed doubts flittering away. Harry loved him. He did.

"I'll make sure you feel it," Harry promised as he bore him down.

The Gryffindor gently began pulling off their clothes. Magic sparked over Draco's skin, making it extra-sensitive, and he shifted uncomfortably. Harry's tongue rasping over his thighs, his stomach, made him grimace and grip the pillows beneath him.

"You're a fucking cat, I swear," he growled. _Just got to get over the hump, _he told himself.

"A cat?" Harry's eyes practically glowed, he was so happy. Draco felt a surge of pleasure knowing he was the source of that happiness. "Do you want to see my claws?"

Draco lifted his chin proudly. No one else could be with Harry, he was sure. Only Draco could handle what he dished out. "Do your worst, Potter."

Again that mischievous grin, and then Harry's nails, much less blunt lately, scratched painfully down his stomach, over his hips, down his thighs. Draco clenched his teeth and refused to make a sound. Sweat beaded his skin, stinging the new scrapes.

"You're so gorgeous, Draco," Harry murmured as he licked a stinging trail, tongue following the path his fingers had laid out.

"I know I'm perfect. You don't have to tell me," Draco lied through his teeth, desperately wanting to hear more.

Harry chuckled and swallowed him whole. Draco screamed. He arched almost completely off the pillows, making Harry chuckle. The vibrations made him yelp loudly, hands spasming around their fistfuls of cloth. But it didn't matter. Nothing fucking mattered. Not when Harry was doing that. Nails broke his skin, ten crescent punctures, eight on his ass, two under his hip bones.

"Fuck, Harry!"

The Gryffindor merely hummed in response. Draco flung his head back, tears streaking his face. The tongue rasping along his over-sensitized member made him bite a fist to keep from reaching down and throwing Harry away – Merlin, it fucking hurt! – or maybe push him down further – Bloody hell, it felt _incredible!_ He didn't know, didn't know which would win, and he was _screaming_...

"Harry, _please!_ Merlin, AH! …"

Thankfully/regretfully, Harry released him. "Roll over, Draco. On your knees. The way I like it."

Draco rolled over, getting on his knees, his forehead pressed to the pillow. His hands grabbed the back of his knees as he waited, feeling deliciously exposed. He was shaking, body on overload. Blood and sweat mixed on his skin.

"So fucking gorgeous. I could cum just from looking at you." Harry's hand slid sensually up his stinging back, the other went between his legs to tease him into a fever. "You're such a pretty little slut, Draco."

He blushed and squirmed. He couldn't take much more. "Just do it, Harry."

A slap landed on his arse. Draco bit his lip, a whine rising in his throat. "Sorry."

"Who gives the orders here?" That voice, rich and low, filled his head.

"You. Sorry."

"What are you?" Warm lips licked up his neck, a lean chest pressed up against his back, their hips aligned promisingly.

"Your slut," he gasped, desperate to cum, for relief.

"Good, Draco. Very good."

Time passed, or maybe held still. Draco was writhing and begging for more as Harry slowly tortured him, bring him to the edge with mouth and hands, leaving sharp bites along his skin while his magic left burning lashing cutting marks into his skin until it all blurred together and Draco was finally cumming, sweat-soaked and near delirious. Then everything went black as he passed out.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus waited for the last of the Death Eaters to depart before he slipped through the shadowed manor toward the Dark Lord's study. He found Harry staring out the window. He turned with a small smile and gestured to the chess board he'd already set up in anticipation of Severus' arrival.

"Do you want black or white?"

"Black of course," Severus drawled as he took the seat opposite the desk.

Harry chuckled. "Of course."

As they played, both of them relaxed more and more. Severus felt the shadow of Hogwarts leave him and breathed a sigh of relief, even as he knew it would be short-lived. Thus free of the school, he began to consider what he'd witnessed that night without any other distracting thoughts.

"That was almost Slytherin of you," he remarked absently as Harry purposefully exposed his queen, knowing Severus' bishop was besotted with the piece and wouldn't take it.

"Thank you," Harry answered with the first honest grin he'd given that night.

"You need to be less Gryffindor with the Death Eaters," he announced, having come to a conclusion. He moved a pawn to threaten the bold queen.

Harry frowned at the board and made a strategic retreat, returning his queen to safety. Then he directed his frown toward Severus. "I tortured Goyle and Lucius last week. I think I've proved I can put aside my squeamishness."

Severus shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I'm not implying your punishments or rewards are lacking, precisely. I'm saying they are too fair." When Harry's scowl deepened, Severus hurried to explain. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy their new camaraderie. "You need to be more manipulative. Occasionally punish those who do well but not well enough. Pay attention to those who only made a half-hearted effort. Be more unpredictable. Do you think Voldemort would be as judicious as you've been?"

"Judicious!" The Dark Lord scoffed and leaned back, red eyes still narrowed dangerously.

"Yes, judicious. You need to keep the Death Eaters occupied and worried about where they stand. Favor isn't something that is kept. It is a momentary success; something that they then have to work all over again for another such moment of glory. Social standing means a lot to them. It has to constantly change and shift or they will grow complacent and begin to question you and challenge your position, something Voldemort would never allow."

Harry looked annoyed and frustrated after his explanation. Severus could sympathize. He felt frustrated himself. This type of manipulation wasn't taught in this manner. It was learned through observation. Something Harry would have picked up naturally from living in Slytherin, for example. But there was no time or opportunity for that. Harry would have to learn, and quickly.

A hard knock sounded at the door and instantly Harry masked his expression. Severus was relieved that he at least had good facial control. It was one less thing they had to worry about.

"Come in," the Dark Lord hissed dangerously, wandless magic making the game board invisible so it looked like Severus was there to consult with him, not play chess. Again, Severus gave Harry mental points.

"My Lord!"

The frantic cry was heard barely a second before the door was thrown open. The Dark Lord stood swiftly. Severus copied him, observing the wide frantic eyes and red cheeks of the usually calm Sebastian Nott.

"Salisbury is being attacked!"

He recognized the name of the Wizarding village near Stonehenge and where the Nott estate was located. As Harry swept by them, Severus fell into step behind him, wondering who could be attacking such an isolated, neutral village. Thankfully, Harry voiced his question for him.

"By whom," the Dark Lord demanded, voice arctic.

"I don't know, my Lord! It's not like anything I've ever seen before. I think…" Sebastian looked dazed by what he was about to say. "I think they are _Muggles_."

"Then defeating them should be easy," Severus said with a sneer.

Harry didn't say anything, but the tight frown that briefly touched his face told Severus that he disagreed. The three of them Apparated together from the receiving room.

An arm lashed out at Severus, throwing him up against a wall, briefly pinning him there.

Sound filtered in next: the sharp cracks, like an old speeding train, rain on a tin roof, deafened him and confused his sense of direction. Screaming, there were screams of hysteria. The kind that made the hair on your arms stand straight. Adrenaline was already flooding his system.

Severus caught sight of black clothed figures wearing bizarre masks and goggles. They ran through the streets in tight formation. Muggles, just as Sebastian had said. A witch went down not two hundred yards from them. A fan of blood splattered the window behind her. She screamed as she fell, writhing in the dirt, churning up blood-soaked mud. Muggles with monstrous metal guns and egg-shaped canisters that they flung before them.

Less than five seconds had passed since they'd Apparated. The Dark Lord pushed away from the wall and dove into battle.

Heart in throat, Severus ran after him. This was bad, very bad. They could be killed. Worse, Harry could reveal himself.

Severus fired spells at the Muggle attackers, but the magic seemed to fizzle before reaching the targets. Snarling, he fired again, only to be hit in the shoulder immediately afterward. The force spun him around, and he dropped to his knees, hissing past the flare of white agony that engulfed him.

And then it was as if the black of night swallowed the stars and moon it had held innocently safe moments ago.

Pure destructive power poured from the Dark Lord's body and swamped the street. Severus couldn't hear the spell that Harry screamed with blazing ruby eyes, but three Muggles literally unraveled. Skin from flesh from bone. Only the tight combat fatigues gave the remains a vaguely human shape.

The Dark Lord stepped right over the pathetically begging witch.

That's when Severus realized Harry had given himself over to the Dark. He scrambled to his feet, intent on guarding his Lord's back as they moved through the streets. They passed corpses of witches and wizards riddled with holes, covered in blood. Buildings suffered damage, almost every window in sight was shattered.

The Death Eaters fought viciously, more arriving every minute, summoned by Harry. Like Severus, their spells didn't seem to be working very well. How was that possible? Severus began to truly panic. They were helpless without magic! He watched Mulciber go down. Bullets flew right through his shield! The Death Eaters were pressing together instinctively, just as Severus moved closer to the Dark Lord's back, but it only made them bigger targets, easier to strike.

Rowle was down, Jugson…

**O**

Panting, sweating, Harry tried to strike at a soldier who was gunning for a frightened woman clutching a toddler in her arms, but the magic fizzled out before it could kill him. Her head exploded like a ripe fruit. Harry screamed and turned to the nearest Muggle invader. He moved in close and fired short-range. The man fell with a shriek, burning from the inside out.

"_Single target spells only,"_ he roared to his Death Eaters. _"Spread out! Short-range spells! Kill them!"_

A sharp stab of pain spiked through his arm and side. Harry uttered a short cry and killed another soldier. The Death Eaters echoed his scream, driven to viciousness by their Lord's rage. Harry snapped his wand forward, snarling. A soldier stuttered to a halt, his head falling slowly from his shoulders while his body still stood there.

A teenage wizard stood numbly in the street, face blood-spattered. Harry flung him into the first open doorway with a brutal push of magic.

There were many more soldiers than Death Eaters, but his servants weren't weak civilian wizards. They were combat-trained and immune to everything but the most intense pain. When a Death Eater was wounded, he could Apparate to safety and take healing potions before rejoining battle as good as new, an advantage the Muggles didn't have. It was the only thing that saved his followers.

Bodies littered the ground. The Muggles looked alien with the night vision goggles covering half their faces. There were far too many innocent wizards and witches among them, their wounds grotesque. Severus came to stand at his shoulder as his Death Eaters gathered around him, solemn as the beginnings of female wails and children's sobs seeped into the deafening silence.

"Nott, McNair, Avery, Malfoy, clean things up here. Goyle, Crabbe, collect our dead. Take them to the manor. Selwyn, Rowle, gather as many of the Muggles as you can. I want to present their bodies to the Ministry. Perhaps this will quell their desire to reacquaint themselves with the Muggle race."

"Yes, my Lord," they chorused as one.

"Any of you with injuries, see to them first. Report back to me in an hour!"

Harry looked around and felt burning hatred swamp him. He would see the Muggles paid for this. They would rue the day they ever dared attack him. He Disapparated with a sharp crack.

**O**

Less than half an hour had passed, but the sheer violence took Severus' breath away. He stood there, stunned for half a second, before gathering himself to follow his Lord. He caught sight of Lucius' gaze on him and managed to give him a cocky smirk before Dissapparating.

He found Harry in his bedchamber, pacing.

"You are injured," Severus ventured carefully, aware of the cold that still emanated from his gaunt frame.

Poisonous red eyes glared at him. "I will deal with it. Go. Be at the meeting in an hour."

Severus hesitated, but when Dark magic spiked around the man, he fled. He had his own wounds to tend to, anyway. He used the time to carefully dissect everything he observed that night, severing all emotional reactions from the facts. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't completely quell his worry for Harry.

He entered the throne room among a crowd at the designated time. The atmosphere was tense. Many of them were still in shock over events.

"Report," the Dark Lord hissed, seated almost casually in his throne. For the life of him, Severus couldn't figure out if he was himself yet or not.

"Twelve Muggles dead. Twenty-seven civilians dead. Thirty-one injured," Nott answered, voice rough and gravelly.

"Of our numbers," Harry demanded.

"Two dead, my Lord," Lucius answered with a respectful bow. "Allen Tavers and Owen Jugson."

"The Muggle corpses have been deposited at the Ministry as you ordered," Selwyn added, head hanging in exhaustion. He'd lost a good friend.

"St. Mungo's Healers are already at the village, my Lord. Word will soon be out about the attack," Atticus said calmly. Blood still decorated his robes. Severus suspected it was the blood of the enemy, not the crafty old man's.

"They may try to portray us as the culprits," Caiden warned.

"Make sure that doesn't happen, Nott," the Dark Lord charged, threat clear in his bearing.

Sebastian nodded, obviously just as determined as he was afraid of failure.

The red eyes swept the room. No more was added. Slowly, gracefully, the Dark Lord stood. Every eye was riveted on his form. A tight sneer slid across his face. "It is clear the Muggles know about magic. They've known for a while if they've had time to create those null grenades."

"My Lord," Lucius murmured questioningly.

"It seems clear to me that the metal devices that they flung around suppress magical function. They were effective up to a five hundred yard radius. Spells designed to affect more than one target or have a sustained effect were so weakened as to be useless. Only short range, single target spells remained at full strength."

Severus had come to the same conclusion. He was surprised Harry had seen the same. Although, he was always at his best in battle situations, so perhaps Severus shouldn't be surprised. However, what the Dark Lord said next, he had not thought of himself.

"With the increase of Muggleborns, it shouldn't be surprising. We could hardly catch them all. Some agency found the ones we missed and experimented. We must warn the magical communities. We have to warn the Light. We cannot fight this on our own. There will be more attacks. They will hit us again, most likely in several places at once."

The room became utterly silent at this grim proclamation.

"Get your affairs in order. You have a day. I want all of you staying at the manor. We need to prepare and develop strategies against this type of attack. We are now at war. Go."

There was a moment where they stood frozen, but then they broke and hurried from the room, already talking in heated voices.

"Severus. Come with me."

Severus bowed his head in acquiescence. He had no idea what to expect, but to see Harry leaning over his desk, hands spread and braced, head hanging, was not it.

"Harry?"

"It's like falling down a well," his Lord answered in a whisper. "The more I go there, the deeper I fall, the harder it is to come back." The head lifted and red eyes, stripped bare as they were after the end of the summer, held him captive. "What happens when it stops being pretend? What happens then, Severus? I'm losing myself in this. I'm becoming what I set out to stop. I feel it. It's beginning to consume me."

Severus didn't have an answer. He feared Harry was right. He'd never heard of Dark magic having this effect on someone. It was like it was alive and molding Harry into a specific image, and that image was disturbingly like Voldemort. Severus did know one thing, though, and he voiced it. "You are not Voldemort. Even when you let the Darkness rule, you are still sane."

"How much of his insanity was the addiction? He can't possibly be as insane as he was or he'd have given himself away by now." Harry took a deep breath, hands still holding to the desk, as if he feared falling. "I think I made a mistake. I need to switch back."

Severus felt a pang of regret. "You can't. He has the prophecy. He knows too much about the Light. If you return to your places now, he would destroy us."

"He couldn't afford it with this war," Harry said almost desperately. His eyes pleaded with Severus.

"If you switched back, he'd attack the Muggles wholesale. They'd be slaughtered and more soldiers would come. We'd destroy each other."

The Dark Lord was suddenly screaming. "_You think I won't?_ I want to destroy them all! I can already think of several ways I could do it!"

Severus took a startled step back, and Harry exerted obvious effort to calm himself.

"Go. Report to Dumbledore. Come back tomorrow night with the others."

"Harry…"

"Go!"

It was almost painful, but Severus went, feeling shaken for the third time that night.

**O**

Harry strode angrily toward his bedchamber. He usually avoided the room, but he now realized how pointless that was. Grim, he stood in front of the full-body mirror against the side wall and really looked at his reflection.

He was tall, Severus' height, maybe a little taller. His features were human, but they were flatter, especially his nose and ears. His hair hung around his face in dark waves, loose and messy. It would probably lay flat if he actually brushed it. His skin was pale as porcelain, never been in the sun. He was scarecrow thin, and the plain black robes Severus had given him that summer gave him a simple elegance.

Harry braced his hands on the side of the mirror and leaned forward. He stared hard into the ruby eyes that stared back. Revulsion tightened his stomach, but he didn't look away. He couldn't let the Dark control him anymore. If he was going to do this, _he_ would be the one in control, not that cold, poisonous mentality that tried to swallow him whole.

Harry was the Dark Lord. He had chosen this. It was about time he actually stepped up and did it right. He'd have to pay attention to his looks, even style his dumb hair. He'd have to listen to Severus and learn from him. Harry would make mistakes. He knew this. And they might be costly ones, inciting suspicions from the Death Eaters. Mistakes that wouldn't happen if he let the Dark control him. Harry didn't care. He was going to do this his way or not at all. If that meant he was discovered, then so be it.

It would be hard, though. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Without being able to escape into the Dark, everything would be more personal. It really would be him doing this. The alternative would be worse. Tonight it felt like some part of him had died. And he hadn't cared. Not until he'd woken up, that part of him that always went away when the Dark took over returning to him. It felt as if he'd almost lost his soul. Nothing was worth that. He wouldn't allow it.

Opening his eyes, he glared hard at his reflection. "I'm going to do this my way. I won't let you win, you bastard."

**Chapter end - **Don't forget to leave a review!_ (grins)_


	9. War Drums

**War Drums**

Voldemort sat in the window seat beside his bed. The moon shone brightly, illuminating the grassy fields that led to the lake. It was a peaceful scene. Unfortunately, he was anything but. The attack he'd witnessed in his vision disturbed him greatly, and piercing jealousy simmered under his skin. It was an emotion he decidedly despised. With a frustrated scowl, he drew his finger down the fogged glass. Narrowed green eyes stared back at him from his reflection.

On one hand, at least he could be sure Potter would handle things. His soul shard was obviously gaining influence the more the boy used it. On the other, if things continued, Potter would be completely suppressed. Voldemort would then have to deal with a version of himself with all the strength of a Dark Lord at the peak of his power. Such a circumstance would be infinitely more troubling than dealing with the Potter brat.

Regardless, things were happening _now_. He didn't have the time he thought he would for the Boy Hero to come into power. Not to mention he missed Dark magic. Light magic was fascinating but nowhere near as satisfying. Needless to say, he was becoming less and less amused with his position as Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore had been absent and thus wasn't teaching him battle magics, Potter's friends were becoming annoying again, Severus wasn't suffering nearly enough, and his sexual escapades could only entertain him so much.

Abruptly, he stood and moved to his trunk. He flung the Invisibility cloak around his shoulders and quickly made his way to a certain second floor bathroom. He slid down the tunnel into the Chamber, flinging his cloak off dramatically as he strode further inside. He came to the base of the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin, himself, and sat between the booted feet.

"_Master?"_ Nagini slithered out of the warm nook Voldemort had made for her and curled around him. She placed her head practically in his lap. _"I missed you."_

Voldemort stroked her scales gently. He hated to send her, but he had no other means of gathering intelligence. Not when he was trapped at the school. Draco had stopped providing useful information weeks ago. The besotted teen didn't even have a handle on Slytherin politics, let alone know what was happening in Death Eater circles. All he was good for was sex, and that was beginning to lose its charm now that Draco had broken to his will. The boy would let him do anything he wanted to his body with absolutely no protest, and would, in fact, beg for more no matter how humiliating or degrading. It was delicious but equally predictable.

"_I have a job for you, my sweet. Go back to the not-me and watch what he does. Come back to me in a month's time."_

Nagini preened under his attention for a few minutes before answering. _"I will go, Master."_

"_Be swift, my beautiful."_

She coiled her powerful body, gave him a last affectionate lick, and quickly made her way toward the passage that led to the forest.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry called the admittedly more intelligent and experienced of the Death Eaters into his library to discuss strategy. Atticus, Crispin, Caiden, Sebastian, Lucius, and Severus joined him in an altered Pensieve, where the memories of the battle, taken from every Death Eater, had been placed. It played out before them like a three-dimensional movie, allowing them to view the action up close or from the air as they chose.

It didn't take long to realize those who moved in a small unit of two or three did better than those alone or in larger groups. The Muggle guns were an efficient weapon. They killed from extreme distances that magic could no longer cover due to the null bombs. Magic weakened substantially about ten feet out. By twenty feet, it fizzled completely, unless one was very powerful. The Dark Lord's magic could reach up to fifty feet without being rendered useless. But no weapon was perfect. One disadvantage to guns was that bullets followed a straight line. They couldn't veer to follow the target the way a spell could. Using the buildings and objects around them as shields worked to limit the destruction, but it still didn't get them closer to their enemy.

Harry listened as the six men debated and plotted strategy to even the odds. Apparation took a lot out of a wizard if done in quick succession – not to mention the skill needed to be so exact and not splinch yourself – so they couldn't continuously Apparate behind the soldiers. And the Muggles also worked in small mobile groups. They could turn quickly on any wizard who appeared in their vicinity. Worse, they outnumbered the wizards by a large margin. There would be plenty of time for them to kill magical civilians before ever engaging the Death Eaters.

The Death Eaters had a lot of training before them, a new style to learn to be able to defend against this enemy. Luckily, flying bullets and flying spells weren't too different. They wouldn't have to start completely from scratch.

"We need to protect our heads."

All eyes turned to him.

Harry indicated the gear the Muggles wore. "We lost Jugson and Tavers because they were shot in the head, killed instantly. The Muggle's will know that's our weakness. There'll be more headshots in the next battle." Deeply disturbed, the men examined the scene again. Harry almost sighed. No more could be done here. "Go. Begin the training."

The men bowed or lowered their heads according to their status with the Dark Lord and moved toward the study door.

"Not you, Severus."

The dark-eyed man inclined his head and ignored the venomous glance Lucius shot him before the blond shut the door. Harry snorted and tiredly rubbed at his forehead. Did the Death Eaters really have time to worry about that nonsense? He settled in his chair, very aware that Severus still stood stiffly at attention. Harry felt regret over how he'd treated the man and kept his eyes lowered.

**O**

As Severus waited for orders, he discretely observed the man from the corner of his eyes. He was pleased by the gestures that spoke of Harry and not the Dark Lord he could become.

"I'm sorry, Severus," his Lord said with a soft sigh, head lowered as if he were ashamed.

Severus lifted his head and looked directly at the man. He was completely taken aback by the apology, although he shouldn't be so surprised. This wasn't the Dark Lord. This was Harry. The reminder gave him courage. "Are you well?"

"As I can be." Harry lifted his eyes to meet his own for the first time that night. "I've decided to avoid giving in to the Dark. It is not worth the cost."

Severus frowned. "It has been helpful…"

"I don't care." Harry stared back at him, expression resolute. "Even if I am discovered, it is not worth it."

Severus exploded, his hands slamming down on the desk. "All this would have been for _nothing_."

"You don't understand," Harry hissed. Dark magic stirred restlessly around him. "Trust me. Discovery is better than the alternative."

Only the threat of invoking the man's infamous temper made Severus hold his tongue. He didn't agree. He still thought the Dark mindset could be useful. Harry just needed to be more in control. "I will research the extreme reaction you have to using Dark magic. If I can find a counter, you will be able to use it more freely."

Harry still looked stubborn but didn't argue. "If you find a counter," he allowed. The set of his jaw and shoulders told Severus that he believed such a thing was impossible. "About the battle, I give you permission to inform Dumbledore of our strategies. If the Order does anything less than what we've worked out, they will be slaughtered. We were _extremely_ lucky this time. It won't happen again."

Severus was still scowling. "He'll be suspicious."

"I don't care. He has to be told." Red eyes pinned him in place. "If he doesn't listen, show him your memories of the Pensieve."

Severus didn't ask if he were sure. It was obvious he was. It was a risk – Albus might notice something was different with the Dark Lord. Still, they had never faced an enemy like this before. It was worse than the wave of witch trials almost a hundred years ago. Average wizards were helpless without their wands, and many had been killed. These null bombs recreated that situation without having to find or destroy the wands in the first place. Worse, these mysterious soldiers could somehow find the warded and hidden magical places. There was nowhere to hide.

Severus slumped, the anger draining away. "I'll do what I can."

"Then I'll rest easy."

He smiled wryly at the subtle manipulation. "Now who's being Slytherin?" The soft laugh he garnered in response lifted Severus' spirit considerably.

"I learned from the best," Harry bantered and gestured for the seat across from him.

Severus sat, but his amusement fell into a pensive frown. "We lost two Death Eaters. We're down to twenty-three members. If we continue to sustain such losses, we will be defeated in only a handful of battles. We cannot afford to lose even a single soldier."

Harry looked off to the side, his expression exhausted as he again rubbed at his forehead. "I know."

Severus knew that Harry had sacrificed his own life to avoid outright war, and here it was regardless. It seemed cruelly unfair, but there was nothing they could do except push forward. Worse, he was about to place even more weight on those shoulders. "The Death Eaters are murmuring. They wonder what you have planned for the Light, your real motivations for alerting them to the threat. The pretender would never have thought about warning them so altruistically. And today, during the strategy session, you let us take too much of a lead in making plans. They will grow suspicious quickly if you continue to make such slips."

Harry said nothing. Instead he glowered down at the desk, his knuckles blanching white as he made a fist.

"Listen to me," Severus pressed his advantage. "The Dark isn't something to be feared as long as you maintain the balance. I taught you how to do that. If you…"

"Stop." Harry looked at him with such a tightly controlled expression that Severus fell silent. "I will not let the Dark control me again. You will just have to teach me what to do without it."

He stared in absolute astonishment at what his Lord proposed. Harry had _so much_ to learn. It wasn't possible. Still, he had managed to surprise him before. Harry was a Legilimens now. That would help. And the Death Eaters would be preoccupied with the Muggle war. Perhaps they could manage. Besides, he would continue to look for an answer as to how Dark magic managed to take so much control over Harry's mind.

Grim, Severus glared stonily across at him. "Very well. Let's begin. What would you do if Goyle reported that he managed to convince the Daily Prophet to print the truth about the attackers at Salisbury?"

Harry frowned, head tilting slightly to the left as he considered the situation. "Praise him. Maybe torture Caiden for failing where Goyle succeeded."

"Wrong!" Severus slapped his hand on the desk for emphasis. "You are a Dark Lord, not a mother governing her children! Torture Goyle for acting on his own without orders. Torture Caiden for failing. Praise Lucius for something small. Throw the Death Eaters into confusion! Make them have to work for your approval. Make it always a question whether they will be praised for an action or punished. What would you do if Atticus outlined a plan for the next battle at the next meeting?"

Harry hesitated to give an answer, a scowl on his face. "Torture him."

Severus shook his head. "Not good enough. You have to be quicker. Curse him before he finishes talking. How dare he presume to tell you what should be done! How dare he think he knows better than the all-powerful Dark Lord!"

"But it's not true," Harry argued hotly. "I'm not all-powerful, and I don't know how to plan a war!"

"As soon as they figure that out, you're dead," he hissed furiously. "And the rest of us with you. If you can't do this, then give yourself to the Dark. It would be better for us in the end."

Harry stared at him, pale-faced. "No. I can do this. Continue."

Severus spat out scenario after scenario, viciously correcting Harry when he was too lenient or judicious. Slowly, he began to sense the pattern and began to answer more properly of a Dark Lord. Severus let him glimpse examples within his mind to reinforce each point he tried to convey. By the end of the third hour, they were both exhausted and in need of a break. Not to mention it was almost dawn. Soon Severus would need to be in class.

"Come when you can," Harry whispered. His voice was raw from all the talking – and sometimes frustrated yelling – he had done. "I also need your help making strategies so that I can present them to the Death Eaters without it seeming like I had help."

"I will return every night I am able," Severus assured. He paused as he turned to leave. "You did well." He didn't wait to see what response such a statement would garner and slipped quietly from the room.

**xXxXxXx**

Ron couldn't tear his eyes from the front page of the Daily Prophet. A horrible hush had descended on the large room. It strangely enhanced the black and white photo that showed the scene of destruction at Salisbury. The village had been a powerful one, ancient. It was near Stonehenge, for Merlin's sake! How could this happen?

"I don't understand," Dean muttered from next to him. "Look. Says here that figures in black cloaks and white masks arrived to fight off the attackers."

"The attackers also wore black," Hermione snapped. "Obviously this is some twisted plan thought up by Voldemort to confuse the issue."

Ron ignored them in favor of looking across the table at his best friend. Harry had his head down, his messy hair obscuring his face. His shoulders weren't slumped, though. Instead, his back was straight and he toyed with his food almost casually. Ron stretched his leg out and tapped Harry's ankle. Behind round grasses green eyes looked up at him.

"Did you sense anything… you know… in your dreams?" Ron gestured vaguely up at his head.

"No," he answered and turned to look at the Head Table.

Ron followed his gaze and was deeply relieved to see Dumbledore was back. The relief was subdued, however, when he saw the obvious fatigue in the man's lowered head and stooped shoulders. It had started. The war. Everything was going to change. He felt afraid but also determined to be there for his friend.

"I'm going to the library."

Ron frowned as Harry stood, leaving most of his food untouched. "Want me to come?"

Hermione stopped in mid-sentence to look at him in shock. Dean had a similar gape-mouthed expression. He scowled at them. It wasn't like he never went there!

"I'm fine. Besides, here comes Lavender…" Harry moved away, slipping past the blonde girl as she threw herself at Ron.

"Won Won! Can you believe it? First the Head of the Aurors is attacked and now this! I'm so scared, but I know you'll protect me, won't you?"

"Lavender, get off!" For the first time, he realized how his actions this school year seemed petty and useless. "I have to go." He got up and hurried after his friend, shooting Hermione a thankful glance when the girl kept Lavender from following.

Harry was sitting in the back of the library, but he wasn't looking at the book lying open on the desk. Instead, he stared out the window, face expressionless. Ron wondered what he was thinking about that made him look so empty.

"I'm sorry for being so distracted lately. You were right to start studying so hard. Looks like things are getting bad." He settled in the chair next to the smaller teen and shifted uncomfortably when Harry continued to ignore him. "Hey, mate? You okay?"

Harry sighed. "I'm fine, Ron. I just want to be alone for a minute."

Ron honestly didn't think that was a good idea. "I'll be quiet. I've got nothing better to do right now, anyway."

Harry ducked his head and pulled the book he was reading closer. Ron sat silently as promised and couldn't help feeling he was acting too late. Maybe Hermione was right and they were losing their friend.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry strode into the throne room and walked down the aisles of workstations he'd had set up there. All of the females in the Death Eater families who were available were now brewing as many healing potions as they could. As he checked their cauldrons, they trembled in awe and fear. Should any of the potions not meet his standards, they were well aware he would torture the Death Eater connected to them. It was one thing to know failing would hurt you, another to know it would hurt someone you loved.

"Looks like Augustus won't be safe tonight," Harry murmured softly, trying to sound sadistic. "You should try harder, Ms. Rookwood. Clearly this wouldn't heal a paper cut let alone a severed artery."

"I'm sorry, my Lord," she simpered, head bowed and her potion-stained hands clasped before her. "I forgot the…"

He moved on before she could finish her excuse. His eyes swept the room. They were tired. Some even swayed where they stood. They'd been brewing for almost seventeen hours now. He'd left them early that morning with instructions to continue until he relieved them. He'd planned to release them at dinner, but the strategy session and then helping with training had taken longer than he expected. Guilt burned at him, but he kept it firmly from his expression and his voice. He _must_ be the Dark Lord.

"You are obviously no longer capable of even the simplest task," he hissed furiously. "Go. Return tomorrow morning ready to work."

"Yes, my Lord," they murmured almost as one before filing slowly from the room.

He stared at Narcissa as the woman lingered.

"I can continue to work, if it would please you, my Lord."

Indeed, she had made a visibly larger amount of potions than the other women. Better yet, her hands were steady and her eyes clear. She was obviously made of sterner stuff. She reminded him of Hermione. He felt a pang in his chest and had to turn away to hide it. He strode between the desks as if he wanted to examine the work done. He honestly didn't know that much about potions. Maybe she could be useful.

"Separate the worthwhile potions from the trash. Clean the stations. Then go home," he ordered, turning around to face her again.

"Yes, my Lord. As you command."

He left her still bowed low. Maybe he could get some rest, as well. Or at least something to eat. Lunch and dinner had passed before he had a chance to actually stop. Such plans were dashed, however, when he found Rabastan waiting for him in the hallway.

"What is it," he demanded furiously.

"I've brought you new recruits, my Lord, as you asked. Eleven of them. All graduates from Durmstang. I tested their dueling ability and found them acceptable, my Lord."

Harry stared at the back of the man's head in consternation as he practically kissed his knees. He forcibly reigned in his temper. Dinner and rest would have to wait. "Take me to them. I will test them myself."

"Yes, my Lord."

Rabastan straightened and led him to the informal dining room on the east side of the manor. It had been cleared of all furniture except for a round table with maps and plans spread out on the surface. Right now the room was empty save for the eleven teenagers. The Inner Circle had been dismissed to return home for a few hours rest.

Harry eyed the boys. They appeared to be between the ages of eighteen and twenty. All of them tried to appear stoic and in control, but little things gave away their anxiety. Twitches and damp brows were just a few of the more obvious. Ruthlessly he speared his magic forward, snagging the first one's magic and spinning it out, weighing and measuring.

The boy was bulky with dark hair and brown eyes. He staggered with a gasp, but he quickly tried to cover the reaction. He couldn't. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Harry approved. Instead of breaking himself resisting, he had given in to conserve strength. His magic wasn't weak either, though it wasn't refined. It felt unwieldy, as if it were only good at one thing and not all branches of magic.

"What is your talent," Harry asked coldly, staring down at him impassively. The other teens shifted nervously in the peripheral of his vision.

"Charms, my Lord," the boy panted.

Harry released him and snatched at another's magic. He went on down the line. Only five were truly promising. He granted them the Dark Mark, ignoring their screams of pain as he forced an open conduit between them and welded pieces of their magic permanently to his own. The remaining six he gave to Rabastan.

"Make something useful of them," he ordered darkly.

"Yes, my Lord. Sorry, my Lord," the man groveled.

"Come with me," he ordered the newly marked.

He heard the first Crucio not two steps from the room. The other boys would be punished for not passing the test and embarrassing Rabastan. Harry felt cold, but he didn't turn around. He was the Dark Lord.

The five he'd chosen practically strutted with pride and arrogance as he led them down to the vast cemetery outside the manor. A cold smile touched his lips. Soon they wouldn't be nearly as confident. Seven Death Eaters were even now staging mock battles among the tombstones. Three acted as wizards, working as a team to bring down the four pretending to be Muggle soldiers. Harry had given them paintball guns – they had no idea they were Muggle inventions and not something Harry had created himself – and every night, he tortured each follower a minute for every mark of paint on their clothes. He had to admit the number of hits had gone down quickly with such incentive.

"Selwyn!"

One of the pretend Muggle's twitched and spun around. None of the others stopped their fierce battle. "My Lord!" He quickly jogged over, ducking his head. Harry eyed his chest where four round paint splotches adorned his black robes. Morgan winced when he noticed where his Lord's attention had fallen.

Harry gave a soft smile, knowing it would terrify the man. "These are our new recruits. I want you to explain the rules." He flicked his wand checking the time. Morgan's team only had an hour left. Another group would arrive then to take their turn in the cemetery. "When you're done, have the next team continue their training."

"Yes, my Lord."

Harry scanned the battling Death Eaters, keeping his expression cold as he observed the bright splashes of paint on black robes. Even though the number of hits had gone down, he was aware that each one could have been a bullet tearing through their bodies. They would need more healing potions. Without a word, he turned and left the teenagers with the men. He expected them to fare worse than the more seasoned Death Eaters and wondered how long he would have to torture them tonight.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus stood straight-backed, his hands clasped before him, his face a mask of calm. This was the second night Albus had called him up to his office to view the memories the Dark Lord had allowed him to display. The Headmaster lifted his head from the Pensieve and sat back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Severus stepped forward and returned his memories to his mind. Neither of them spoke.

Albus abruptly stood and stalked toward his office window. His old, knarled hands grasped the windowsill. The right one looked more desiccated than before. Severus absently wondered how far the dead flesh went up the arm. It had been four months since he'd received the injury. The potions Severus had brewed would only slow the curse, not cure it. Sometimes destruction was unstoppable.

"What is he planning," his mentor muttered darkly, eyes scanning the darkening horizon.

Severus tried again to reason with the old wizard. "He plans on defeating these Muggle."

"Undoubtedly. He made his views of Muggles quite clear."

"Albus, this is not a ploy. We are in dire circumstances."

Albus turned from the window to meet his eyes. "I'm sure that is what he'd want me to believe."

"It is the truth," Severus countered softly.

"Truth. You'd have me believe Tom deals in truth now, would you?" Faded blue eyes studied him closely. "Something has changed, but it isn't Tom. He has a stronger grip upon you lately, my boy."

Severus knew defeat, and it tasted bitter. The Headmaster would never believe Muggles were truly to blame for the destruction of Salisbury. At best, he could only hope Albus would think the Muggles were tools working toward some conniving plot hatched by the Dark Lord. He was too set on having "Voldemort" be the enemy. Too much of his life was based around that one fact.

"If that is all," he asked coolly. Inside he felt only sadness. For so long he'd looked to Albus for guidance, but his mentor had finally reached the point where he could no longer see the world for what it was and change with it. Severus could no longer follow him. It felt, in fact, like he was leaving Albus behind.

"Go." The Headmaster returned to his desk, looking no more than a tired old man.

Severus turned his back and walked away. He walked until he was out of the castle and across the grounds, and he Apparated with a muffled crack. The receiving room was empty, but the manor was filled with the frantic activity of many people. He moved toward the room set aside for strategizing, knowing that was where the Inner Circle mostly gathered.

"Severus. So glad you could make it," Lucius drawled.

He gave a genial half-bow in the blond's direction before moving toward the three-dimensional maps of England and the surrounding countries floating in the air. They were alone in the room. "Loitering, Lucius?"

"I was waiting for you, my friend. You haven't yet participated in the mandatory training sessions. I would be delighted to have you on my team."

Severus gave a sharp smile. He had no idea what the Malfoy Lord was planning, but it wasn't in Severus' best interests. The man was practically frothing at the mouth in jealousy over his closeness with their Lord.

"Come. We can show the others how a Slytherin really battles." Lucius moved toward the door, his expression relaxed and casual. His hair pulled back into a short, tight braid. His robes were Death Eater robes, and a white mask hung from his waist. He looked ready for battle.

Severus truly did need to go through a training session. He had to be ready. He had no intention of letting Harry go undefended. Therefore, despite knowing he was walking into some type of trap, Severus followed him. Besides, surviving it, maybe even defeating it, would only make him stronger.

The night was rapidly growing colder as true darkness settled over the land. He could see figures moving quickly, stealthily through the shadows. Severus muttered a night-sight spell. The landscape lit up around him in an eerie green.

Without warning, Lucius dove to the right. Severus dove sharply left. The pat-pat sound of a gun firing reached his ears. He saw smears of white on the ground where he'd been standing a moment before. Paint. Harry had told him about it, but he'd not seen it in action yet.

The next three hours were a blur. Lucius and six other faceless Death Eaters hunted him. Two used spells. Four used the guns. At first, his movements were overreactions. He wasted energy on threats that were only mild, but quickly he found the rhythm of the battle. He maneuvered so that those playing wizards were between him and the guns as much as possible. He fainted and hid. He broke down the teamwork of his enemies, carefully picking his targets. It was harder than he thought it would be, and he felt pride that Harry's training strategies had worked so well.

"Time!"

He flinched as the sudden shout broke him out of a battle-trance.

Lucius cast a bright Lumos and approached him with a smile. "Well done, old friend. Still haven't lost your touch."

Severus eyed him, suitably wary of the happy expression. "We must all do our part."

"I agree completely." The blond swished his wand and tisked at the time. "We better hurry or we'll be late."

"Late?" Severus followed at his side, not willing to let the man lead him as if he were his better.

"Every night, three hours past nightfall, the Dark Lord checks our progress," Lucius explained.

Severus hadn't heard about that, but sure enough, all of the Death Eaters were already in attendance. They knelt, one knee on the ground and their left arms across their chest, bringing the Dark Mark close to their hearts. Severus and Lucius moved closer to the front and copied the subservient position. They waited for some minutes before the side door opened and the Dark Lord strode in. Instead of taking a seat on his throne, he stood before the first row and cast a large glowing timing clock in the air above his head.

"I hope you will not waste too much of my time tonight, my dear servants. I am quite busy."

The words had been gently hissed, making the threat behind them that much more terrifying. Impressed, Severus watched from the corner of his eye as Harry moved through the lines. He was counting something and then hissing some incantation. Severus checked for signs of the effects of this unknown spell, but all he could make out was pale faces and tight shoulders.

Harry came to a stop before him. There was no change in his features, but Severus had spent hours with his Lord and could read his distress in the tilt of his hips, indicating one foot was braced slightly before the other, and the way he held his hands.

"My Lord," he murmured, hoping to cue the man that he couldn't treat him differently than the others. By this point, Severus was aware that Lucius had set this up. To test him and the Dark Lord both. Harry would have to do something to check the man's boldness soon.

"Severus, you participated in training tonight?"

"Yes, my Lord," he answered evenly. Inside he was frowning. Harry hadn't spoken to anyone else.

"How did you do, Severus?" A spell swirled briefly around him. "Eleven hits. I expected better."

Severus lowered his head submissively as the incantation that was spoken over the others was cast on him. "My Lord, I will do better."

Harry gave a chilling smile. "I have no doubt."

Severus kept his head lowered as his Lord moved on. He felt fierce pride. Harry was doing well. That performance had been nearly perfect. Better, he'd managed to subtly tell Severus a few things. The paint hits were being counted. Obviously it would lead to punishment of some kind. Next time he participated, he would avoid the paint even at the cost of allowing a spell to connect.

"You are Death Eaters," the Dark Lord spat as he finished and returned to the front. "I expect better than this! If I don't see improvement soon, I will make it two minutes!" With that, he slashed his wand forward and the timer began to tick.

At first, Severus felt no different, although he could sense the dread spike in the men around him. Then he began to burn.

It started at his toes and fingertips. Slowly the searing fire moved hungrily upward. Sweat soon drenched his body, and he fought to maintain his kneeling position even though his muscles twitched to roll or flail. Panic almost snapped his control as the tightly controlled flames licked at his palms and soles. The agony was incredible. He gritted his teeth as he forced his Occlumency shields to soften the effects just enough to make it bearable.

Screams began to break out among the group, tight and muffled. Panting, gasping breaths filled the room with a roaring like the sea. Severus glanced up. Red eyes watched impassively from the throne as the Dark Lord tapped his wand against his thigh in obvious impatience. Lucius tensed next to him, head bowed low to hide his expression. Severus couldn't help the small smirk that graced his tight features.

After that, he had no energy to make observations. The fire moved up past his ankles and wrists. It was all he could do not to scream and collapse as his flesh and muscle and juices sizzled and burned away.

**O**

Harry listened to his twenty-eight followers as they shook and screamed. Some were released after only a few minutes, but they kept their positions, just breathing and recovering from the pain. Only the five new recruits had done worse than Severus, earning between thirteen and seventeen minutes. And he knew why. Lucius had both teams gang up on Severus. Instead of two teams, three against four, it had been six against one. Severus had done remarkably well, considering.

Harry felt in awe of such obvious skill and was sick to his stomach that he was now _torturing_ his friend. It took all he had to maintain his Dark Lord mask when he wanted to end the whole thing. He needed a distraction before he slipped. His eyes slid over to Lucius and he glared hotly. The bastard wasn't aware of the scrutiny. He was too busy watching Severus suffer, sheer sadistic pleasure obvious in his eyes.

Harry had been tempted to add seven minutes to Lucius' four so that he equaled Severus' punishment, but that would have been too obvious. He needed something more subtle, something that would really stick with the man. This was the second time Lucius had been caught trying to sabotage Severus. He needed something more creative than a mild torture spell of illusionary fire.

Despite his enforced distraction, he noticed instantly when Severus' shoulders relaxed from their hunched form. The eleven minutes were over. He felt his own shoulders loosen in response. The remaining minutes of torture for the shrieking teens seemed to fly by in comparison.

"Go. I'm tired of your pathetic whimpering," he hissed as the last of the screams fell into silence and the timer faded from view.

There was a mad scramble for the door even though they tried to make it look dignified and casual. Harry could read their desire to run straight from their eyes. He almost laughed. They were the ones who made this necessary, not Harry. Still hiding his distress, he moved to the side entrance and made his way to his study, knowing Severus would meet him there as soon as he could. It wouldn't be long.

He slowly set up the chess board, letting the normal action calm his nerves. Soon enough, Severus slipped into the study, and as predicted, he seemed undisturbed that Harry had just tortured him for eleven minutes. He fell into the chair across from him and gave a faint smile.

"You did very well tonight."

"I'm glad you approve." Harry played idly with his rook, not sure why he suddenly felt like punching Severus in the face.

Severus snorted and moved one of his pawns, starting the game. "You're wasting your guilt."

"Because you don't deserve it?" He set the piece sharply on the board. Why did Severus brush away such obvious wrongs done him? Why was he so accepting of poor treatment? The problem was Harry knew why. It made him squirm because it felt vaguely familiar. Severus' silken voice pulled him from his uncomfortable thoughts.

"Torture in moderation can be invigorating. Think of it as payback for all the unfair points I took over the years."

Harry stared at him. The man honestly appeared happier than he had in weeks. "You're crazy."

Severus gave him a sardonic smirk in response. "At least I'm in good company."

That finally cracked through Harry's distress. He chuckled. "And you'll get me back, I'm sure. You're itching to correct my pathetic ineptitude at understanding subtlety," he quoted.

"Looks like you're finally learning how to play with snakes," Severus drawled, lips quirked up at the corners.

"Only other Slytherins can play with snakes," he denied with a smirk of his own. It was a sure way to get in under his teacher's skin. Sure enough, dark eyes glared at him.

"What exactly are you implying," Severus demanded as he drew himself straighter in the chair. "That's the third time you've hinted you belong in my House."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Severus." He moved his bishop out. "Your move."

Those eyes narrowed further. "Who would you save if a mother and child were about to be struck down on one side and a Death Eater on the other?"

It was Harry's turn to scowl. Whenever he got the upper hand, Severus was always bound and determined to get it back. "The Death Eater."

"Wrong. You'd save neither. The Dark isn't in the business of saving, Harry. It's the essence of destruction. You should attack the attacker, not defend."

He sighed but dutifully looked in Severus' eyes for the example he had primed. With all the months of constantly using Legilimency, he'd become quite skilled at it. The process was smooth and took less than a fraction of a second. A quick glimpse and he saw the image Severus wanted him to see. They were usually all horrific and, not for the first time, he wondered how Severus had maintained his sanity over the course of his life.

For the next hour, Severus did indeed get revenge by grilling him mercilessly. Harry was pleased to notice that his percentage of right answers was increasing. He was about at sixty-eight percent when two nights ago he'd been at twenty-four percent. However, their game was only half-played when a knock sounded at the door. Again he flung an illusion at his desk to hide the chess board.

Crispin Lestrange entered at a slow pace. The man was strange. One of the first marked, but unlike the others, he did not try to vie for Harry's constant attention and approval. He tended to fade into the background. Harry noticed the intense look Severus leveled at the man and it made him more attentive. He'd come to trust Severus' instincts completely. Perhaps Crispin wasn't as harmless as he appeared.

"My Lord, I'm sorry for the interruption, but the leaders of the Dark villages won't agree to the distress signal since it weakens the wards. They wish to speak to you in person before they even consider it."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Very well." He stood and moved toward the door. Crispin slid gracefully out of his way. "With me, Severus."

_Will I ever have more than an hour to myself again_, he wondered with sharp disappointment. Startled by the strength of the emotion, he picked up his pace, despite knowing there was no blush for another to see. This face thankfully did not reveal such things.

Rodolphus caught them just outside the receiving room. The still too-thin man bowed twice, once to Harry and once to his father. "My Lord! We've managed to make spelled armor that will work despite the null bombs!"

"I hope for your sake your claim isn't premature," Harry hissed threateningly, falling into character easily.

"Yes, my Lord," Rodolphus agreed and turned back the way he'd come.

Harry followed, aware of Crispin and Severus at his heels. He truly hoped Rodolphus and Rowle had done it. If they couldn't find a way to protect their heads before the next battle, they were doomed.

"Intrinsic magic was the key," the man babbled almost excitedly. His spidery hands flashed around his body. "The null bombs only interfere with extrinsic magic."

They entered one of the smaller sitting rooms that Harry had given over to the two men for their project. On a table in the corner, guns, null bombs, and gear that had been stripped from the Muggle invaders were spread out on display. On the other side of the room, Rowle stood in Death Eater regalia wearing a new metal mask that resembled the original white one. Rodolphus strode over to the table and lifted one of the automatic guns. He pulled the trigger.

Deafening in the small space, the rapid pat-pat-pat filled the room with sound. Severus and Crispin flinched, but Harry was more familiar with the weapons due to exposure during childhood and held steady. He was more focused on the way Rowle jerked with each hit, his body doing a strange dance as if he were a puppet on twitching strings. The gun fell silent.

Rowle tugged off his mask and slipped out of the robes, revealing pale, sweaty features but no blood. "It still bruises, my Lord, but it doesn't penetrate the material," he said breathlessly.

Harry sent his magic through the room and was pleased to feel a smothering resistance. The null bombs were working properly. He looked to Rodolphus for further explanation.

"It's clear the bombs affect extrinsic magic, but if it interfered with intrinsic, we wouldn't be able to access our magic at all. The problem was developing armor with intrinsic magic. Any spells applied to objects are extrinsic in nature."

Rowle handed Harry the cloak and mask, a grin on his face. "We discovered that if the materials have intrinsic magic of their own, they make spells applied to them more resistant to the null bomb effects. The spells wear off in three hours, though. Sometimes they can hold up as long as five."

Harry weighed them in his hands, approving of their light weight. "We shouldn't fight longer than three hours, and if we do, we can always Apparate back and change into a fresh pair. What are they made of?"

"There's a thin layer of dragon scales within the cloth, my Lord," Rodolphus answered with a half-bow. "The mask was formed by the melting and shaping of talons from other various magical creatures."

"See to it that each Death Eater has two of each." Harry handed the two items back, a pleased smirk on his face.

Rodolphus and Rowle bowed low. "My Lord," they said together.

He left without another word. He was aware the order he'd given was no easy task. Those materials were expensive and rare, but it had to be done. He actually felt cheerful. This was great news. The next battle no longer seemed so bleak. "Your son has done well, Crispin."

"We live to serve you, my Lord," the strange old man answered with a nod of his head.

They arrived at the receiving room, and Harry Apparated, dragging the two Death Eaters with him. Now he felt ready to face the suspicious Dark followers on the Orkney Isles. It helped to know Severus was at his back. The man would cue him if he was about to misstep. Confident again, Harry strode into battle.

**Chapter end**

**A/N:** It doesn't appear that much is happening in this chapter… hmmm… I promise it will pick up soon.


	10. Torn

**Torn**

Severus stared at his Lord's back. The sheer number of projects Harry had going was incredible. He suspected he didn't even know of all of them. First the paint guns and motivating torture, then the bullet resistant armor, and now convincing an insular isolationist community to open their wards to allow for a distress signal. Harry may hate war, but he was a skilled war leader. Albus had taught the boy well.

The most amazing part about it was that Harry seemed oblivious to his skill. It was frankly astonishing that one person could be so self-ignorant. But what bothered him the most was how long Harry could maintain a mask. His Dark Lord act was significantly different from the personality revealed when he relaxed in the study, yet he maintained the Dark Lord persona for days on end. The little hints given here and there about the school Houses coalesced in his mind, and Severus shot a deadly glare at his Lord.

Harry settled in behind his desk with a sigh. "What did I do now?"

"You're a Slytherin," Severus accused.

Harry laughed! Actually laughed at him!

Severus sneered in disgust, but strangely the sound made his outrage slide right through his fingers. The laughter showed no signs of abating, so Severus sat with a glare, crossing his arms as he waited for the madman to get a hold of himself. As Harry wiped tears from his cheeks, still grinning, his Lord finally deigned to answer him.

"The hat said I'd do well in Slytherin. Said I could be great. I begged it to put me in Gryffindor instead, and it did."

Severus said nothing. He examined the man across from him and could actually believe it.

"Are you confident now?" Harry shot him a sly glance. "Maybe we can win, after all."

"Don't be absurd, Harry," he sneered, playing the game. "The hat's inane babbling aside, the only way you'll win is if a real Slytherin paves your way."

"Good thing I have you, then."

Severus blinked. Harry had said that so smoothly, without any hesitation. Had they really come so far? "Good thing."

A knock on the door interrupted the strangely charged moment.

Harry, with mask back in place, called, "Come in."

Narcissa slipped into the room with a deep bow, her long hair falling over her shoulders and almost brushing the floor. "I've finished separating the usable potions from the refuse, my Lord." She straightened her back. Even wearing simple black robes, she still held herself like a queen.

"Was the daily quota met?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well, you may go home."

"Thank you, my Lord." She turned and left as quietly as she'd arrived.

The door clicked behind her and silence settled in the room. Harry was staring at him.

"Are you okay?"

Severus was surprised he'd seen through his blank façade to the rage that had ignited at the sight of his once-friend. He would never forgive her for putting him in the position she had and continuously disregarding his advice. He Occluded his thoughts as the vow sent warning spikes through his system. He could not allow the Dark Lord to discover Draco's plight. Even if another was the one revealing the situation, if he was present, he had to prevent that from happening on pain of death.

"I'm fine. Just tired. As are you. When was the last time you slept, Harry?" He trusted in his mental barriers. He was the best Occlumens in Europe that he knew of. Not even Voldemort could get in if Severus resisted.

"A few days," Harry finally answered, allowing the subject change.

His shoulders relaxed. "You need to eat and sleep. They can manage without you for a bit."

"Careful, Severus, you almost sound like you care," Harry teased with a grin.

"Of course I care." He smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "You're our secret weapon."

Harry snorted. "Not so secret." He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on his flat stomach, his whole demeanor relaxed. "Any progress with Dumbledore?"

"No. He still insists this is somehow a trick." Bitterness flooded Severus' tongue once again as he remembered his failure.

"Hopefully the Ministry isn't as slow to see the truth." Harry rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "You know, I've been thinking."

"Merlin help us," Severus snipped.

Harry gave an amused quirk of his lips. "Are you on the Light side or the Dark? Everything you say and how you carry yourself is obviously of the Dark, but you seem genuinely loyal to Dumbledore who is almost completely of the Light."

Severus considered the question. "Light and Dark are such broad definitions. People are inevitably more complicated than any either-or. Those who serve the Light have Dark moments, and vice versa. And sometimes you have a Dark wizard who follows the doctrine of the Light. Or a Light wizard who adheres to the Dark."

Harry tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. "Like us?"

He shook his head. "Maybe for you. I have never followed either the Light or the Dark. I have my own philosophy. I do not see the need to be faithful to any but my own principles."

"And what exactly is this Snape Doctrine," Harry asked with a soft laugh.

Severus should have let it slide, but he didn't. "Not Snape." He lowered his head to hide his expression behind a curtain of hair, but there was no disguising the ice in his voice. Still after all these years he hated the man. "Snape was my father."

"I'm sorry." Harry sat straighter, a frown erasing the playful expression. "I associate the name with you. For me, you're the only Snape."

"If I have my way, I will be the last," he agreed.

There was a pause before Harry tried again to breathe life back into the conversation. "So what would you name your doctrine, then?"

"Ethics of a Half-blood Prince." He stood and gave a slight bow. "You really should rest, Harry."

The Dark Lord shook his head, a wry smile softening his lips. "You, too."

"Goodnight," he said before quickly turning away.

"Night, Severus."

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort strode down the corridor, hands in his trouser pockets. His robe was open revealing his school uniform and a loosened Gryffindor tie. He was late for a DA meeting, but he didn't hurry. The defense club had quickly grown boring. The children struggled with the simplest spells. Only a few showed any potential at all, and now that he knew who they were, he was not interested in going through the motions of teaching the pathetic bunch, especially when he had more important things to consider, like the war.

"Loony, just mind your own business! I don't want your stupid necklace."

"You really should take it. It is great protection against possessed lovers."

Voldemort's eyes widened, freezing in place.

"You're crazy. He's different this year, but he's been through a lot." Susan, as he now recognized the voice, exhaled loudly. "Oh, why do I bother trying to explain? Harry's fine!"

"I had hoped he wasn't contagious," the unfamiliar voice spoke. "Have you ingested any of his bodily fluid lately?"

"Luna!"

"The wrackspurts multiply under such conditions, you know. Perhaps you need more serious attention. We could go to the Lady of the Poppies"

"I'm leaving now." The sharp click of shoes sounded, moving away.

Voldemort turned the corner. A blond girl, slender with plain features, stood facing him. He kept his face blank, hiding his surprise. He'd expected her to be staring off after Susan. Her eyes were a pale misty blue. Something about them seemed unfocused. It almost felt as if she were staring through him. He tried to slip through those eyes and into her mind only to be met with a clinging fog. The girl was Occluding. He was deeply perturbed now. She could be hiding any number of secrets dangerous to him.

"Hello, Luna," he said softly. He folded his expression into his best Gentle Potter impersonation. Where magic failed, charm would prevail. "Are you going to join the DA?"

The girl offered him a string covered in feathers and neon-colored Muggle paperclips. "It probably won't help seeing as how your soul's six sizes too small, but you could try."

He felt a jolt of alarm. Did she know about his Horcruxes? Coldly furious but masterfully keeping it from his expression, he moved forward. When he went to casually touch her shoulder, she whipped her wand up and slid her left foot back into a dueler's stance. He made his eyes go wide as his voice rose with concern.

"Is something wrong, Luna?"

"I'm afraid it's pollen season. I wouldn't want to catch a spore."

Voldemort was sick of playing the passive Boy Wonder. He let his mask fall, slapping the girl's wand aside. He grabbed her arm with his other hand and cruelly slammed her against the wall hard enough for her head to bounce. Exhilaration flooded his veins as she cried out. He pulled his wand and hissed, erecting a Parseltongue ward. It fought him, as it was almost a Dark spell, only just this side of Neutral, but he poured all his power into it and it crackled into place. Not even Dumbledore would be able to spy on them now.

"Luna…" he murmured against her ear as she strained her head to the side, trying to get away from him. "Loony…" The girl flinched and a wicked smile twisted his features. "You must hear that a lot. Poor girl. No one will listen. No one will heed your warnings." He forced her chin around and stared into her eyes. "No one believes you about the monster lurking in their midst."

"There are much bigger monsters than you, I'm afraid. Perhaps that is why they don't notice."

Voldemort stiffened, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Keep silent, girl, or I will cut that tongue from your silly little head!"

"Before you do, would you be so kind as to ask the lizards for me how to grow it back? They are kin to the snakes, you see."

_Crucio! Acerbitas! Infractus!_ The Dark torture curses wanted to fly off his tongue, and he had to force himself to remember his magic was Light for now. "Exuro profundus!"

Luna shrieked as her bones began to heat to an agonizing degree.

Voldemort laughed. "No one can hear you, little girl! Still have something to say?"

Luna thrashed in his grip as sweat poured off her body. Everything swam in and out of focus as her skull cooked her brain. Terrified, wailing in misery, she collapsed to the floor.

He stood over the fallen girl, hungrily watching her convulsions. So lost was he, that he forgot where he was, forgot who he was pretending to be. He almost jumped out of his skin when McGonagall came running around the corner with several teachers and curious students following on her heels.

"Potter! What happened?"

He quickly deconstructed the ward, made more difficult by the fact he couldn't speak and only just barely move his wand. He made it just in time. McGonagall passed through the space it had been and dropped to her knees beside the girl. He cancelled the Light battle spell. Fortunately, he'd held it long enough that it would take time to dissipate. It would be unclear for a while what she was suffering from.

"I just found her like this," he exclaimed, interjecting a bit of panic into his voice. "She went to put on that necklace, said someone gave it to her, and she collapsed!"

"No one touch it!" McGonagall barked as the dumb children leaned closer to look at the piece of jewelry. "Filius, levitate Miss Lovegood if you will. We need to take her straight to the Hospital Wing. Potter, come with me. I want to know exactly what happened. Severus, take the necklace. See if you can find out what is on it."

Voldemort let his eyes flash up to the dark ones watching him suspiciously before following after the other professors. While he wrung his hands and made his eyes wide, he was laughing silently to himself. The look of utter hate on Severus' face had been beautiful.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry came gasping out of a dream where he stood on a cliff, waves relentlessly pounding higher and higher, eager to have him at last. He leapt from the bed, realizing the rhythmic sound was in actuality the battle alarm. The magical pulse tolled insistently like a bell, resonating through the entire manor. He almost ran down the hall, his black robes flaring around him. The sharp cracks of Apparation could be heard in the throne room as his Death Eaters gathered.

"Lucius!"

The man immediately came forward. Harry brutally used his mark to call any Death Eaters who were missing. Pale-faced, Lucius then cast a spell to alert his wife to gather the other woman to their stations, ready with potions and healing should they need it.

Harry continued on to the front of the room. He stood on the raised dais in front of his throne and watched as his soldiers quickly pulled on their battle cloaks and masks. He was aware of every second that ticked by. Each was a moment where the Muggles had free-range of a panicked village. But he could not rush. That would be death.

"In your groups," Harry hissed.

He caught Severus' eyes and felt relief wash through his jangled nerves. He nodded fractionally as his once-Professor stepped up to his side. There was a shifting among the Death Eaters at this, but Harry didn't care about social politics right now. He was about to go into battle without the Dark leading him. He was terrified of getting people killed and felt much better knowing Severus would be close by. So that's where he would be, Death Eater's be damned.

"Rodolphus!"

The younger Lestrange brother quickly began passing out the Muggle semi-automatic hand guns that they'd confiscated from their kills. The Death Eaters shifted again, this time adding murmurs.

"You've become familiar with the weapons during training," he snarled dangerously. "If your magic fails, and you have a shot, take it!"

"My Lord," they chorused, straightening.

Without further word, he Apparated, pulling them along via their Dark Marks. He felt faint resistance as he passed through the Dark wards around the islands. Even dismantled by the null bombs, they spiked and lashed with energy that had been built up for decades.

The Isle leaders had been certain such powerful wards would keep the Muggles out. It had taken threats of destruction and promises of survival to convince them to agree to the signal and to create a window he and the Death Eaters could slip through. The threat had come true. Now he had to honor the promise.

They appeared in the largest village. Immediately the majority of the Death Eaters – broken into nine groups of three – Apparated throughout the four main towns. Harry gestured sharply, his heart pounding hard in his chest, and the single group that remained scattered into the dark, smoke-filled streets.

Distant shrieks could be heard, underscored by the rhythmic sound of automatic weapons. The Dark civilians who lived on the Isles were technically more equipped to defend themselves than the ignorant, law-abiding masses ruled by the Ministry, but in reality they were just as helpless.

A panicked wizard ran into sight. He screamed in terror as two soldiers stepped out of a thick bank of smoke and gunned him down. Harry was already moving, but he could do nothing, the null bombs rendering magic at this distance useless. He snarled, furious that he'd witnessed yet another murder, and let power build around him. As soon as he was in range, he released it with a screamed, "Capitis!"

A soldier's head exploded with a wet crunching sound. Gore spattered the near-by wall; blood misted the air. Everything was moving too fast for Harry to get sick, but it was a close thing. He clung to his anger and adrenaline, forcing himself not to flinch away. The Dark writhed inside him, just under the surface, waiting for the smallest slip on his part to take over.

Severus took care of a second soldier, but the third dove into a small alley between houses, tossing a silver object in their direction. _Null bomb_, Harry thought with a sneer.

"_Protego,"_ Severus yelled.

The world exploded in light and sound made real. Harry was flung off his feet, howling in pain. Heat seared the skin of his exposed hands and face, the shield only protecting them from the physical debris that pelted down on them like hail in a furious storm. A body impacted his own as he felt the shield waver and collapse. Blood spattered delicately across Harry's cheek and lips. _Severus. _Ears ringing, he shoved his way to unsteady feet. Severus grimaced, pushing up to his knees.

"Go! Potions," Harry shouted.

The stubborn man shook his head and staggered upright.

Five hysterical villagers, soot-smudged and bleeding from gunshot wounds, tumbled onto the street ahead of them. Harry ran with Severus close on his heels. The terrified group stood frozen, staring at them in awed relief. As soon as he was in range, Harry snarled and cast a spell that blasted them off their feet. They rolled to the side of the road out of harm's way just as four Muggles burst out of an alley and spread out, creating a deadly wall of bullets.

Harry lifted his wand in one hand, a gun in the other, and dove toward a nook for some cover. Sweat stung his eyes, as he fired relentlessly at the enemy. He was sweltering, many fires heating the winter night. His hands vibrated with energy recoil. His head rang with the cacophony of battle.

Something punched into his shoulder, shoving him half out into the open. Another impacted his ribs. He staggered wheezing. Three more Muggles. Behind them. Guns up. Firing. Such a barrage would be too much for the spells on his cloak and he had no hood or mask to protect his head from instant death. Only magic.

Harry flung the Dark tide forward, but he had hesitated. The triggers were already pulled. Even if he struck one of their attackers down it was too late … too late… Then Severus was there. Between him and certain death. The lanky man was flung back into Harry by the multiple impacts. The smell of blood, strong and sharp sizzled on the smoke-tinged air. Severus coughed. Bloody foam appeared at his lips.

Harry flung his head back and roared. He snapped his wand forward as if he were casting a line and gave a quick swirl before yanking it back. _Spinitus regurgium_, he hissed silently. The nearest soldier gave a short shriek before his spine launched up out of his mouth like a wet, white snake. Harry's other hand lifted the gun and he aimed for the Muggle's exposed throats and jaws. Meanwhile, he forced Severus back to the manor and dove into an alley for cover.

Time past in a blur. He forced the Dark and his rage to heed his will, not letting it overpower him, and focused completely on the task at hand. On surviving. On killing. His heart pounded with fear and pain. Rage still simmered in his gut. He ignored it all and pushed forward. He had to keep moving forward! At some point, Severus returned to guarding his back, and sharp relief had him shouting out. The man was alive!

They ran past witches and wizards huddling against walls. All were sobbing, bleeding, maimed. One kid had both his legs blown off. He lay in the dirt, bleeding from his stumps, moaning pitifully. The sounds of explosions and gun-fire never ceased. The night shook with thunder, blazed with hellish light. Dizzy and sick and desperate, Harry pressed forward, desperately glad he wasn't alone.

It almost came as a shock when he found himself in the center of the village facing his six Death Eaters and having no other Muggles to kill. The remaining invaders had fled, just like last time. Harry bared his teeth in a silent snarl. They weren't killing nearly enough. They would attack again.

The absence of sound took a while to register, his ears rang and buzzed so badly, but it was true. The thunder had finally come to an end. The sobbing and moaning of the wounded and traumatized rose in its place. Pains that had gone unnoticed in the heat of battle took the opportunity to alert him to his hurts. Panting, likely going into shock, Harry quickly gave his orders.

"Fetch the women," he rasped. "Help the villagers restore order."

"My Lord," came their exhausted reply.

Harry Apparated to the next town. He needed to check on his other followers and talk to the leaders of the Isles. Death tallies and damage reports had to be put together and sent to the Ministry. It wasn't yet midnight, but it felt like days had passed. He practically vibrated due to delayed reaction, and he kept darting glances over at Severus, just to make sure the man was still with him.

**xXxXxXx**

It was almost dawn. They'd finally returned to the manor with the profuse gratitude of the villagers. It made Harry uncomfortable. He never did know what to do with such praise, and on top of that, he wasn't sure what the Dark Lord would do, so he quickly retreated. Now he was in his study and was finally coming down from the furious battle. His hands still shook, but at least he was breathing normally and he no longer felt like vomiting or that the ground was shaking

Silently, he watched his companion from the corner of his eyes. Severus sat across from him, sipping brandy from a wide-bowled glass. He held it in his left hand due to his right arm being pulled close and immobile to his side. Harry had seen battle before. He'd seen his friends injured and his loved one's killed before his eyes, but Severus constantly flinging himself between Harry and danger was something else entirely.

It had been worse than all those other times because it made him directly responsible instead of just indirectly. No matter how much he blamed himself for Sirius' death, he was aware that other factors were at play. But this… Why had Severus risked his life even when Harry wasn't in mortal danger? The man had protected him from lesser injury, too, and at cost to himself.

"Checkmate. I must say, you're either getting worse – which would be a feat even for you – or you're not paying attention." Black eyes flashed to his own, catching him and forcing him into the open. "What's the matter, Harry? Are you injured?"

"I haven't seen you this relaxed in a long time," he responded softly, hoping Severus didn't delve too deeply. Harry was too shaken by the night to understand what he was feeling. He had no idea what would come spilling out if he were pushed.

Severus smiled a devil-may-care smile that was at odds with his usually sardonic wit. "We sustained no losses, though Selwyn and the new recruits will be bedridden for a few days, and killed many of the enemy. Be happy. This was a victory. One that was long overdue."

He forced his shoulders to loosen. Severus was right. He should be happy. "Do you think the Death Eaters are suspicious?"

"No. They were mightily impressed with the success of all the strategies you implemented. It was well done."

"Our plans." He gave a wry smile. "I recall you having something to do with all these genius strategies of mine. I still can't understand why they got so bent out of shape when I let them help me make plans."

Severus shrugged his left shoulder. "Give a man an inch, he takes a mile. It's especially true of Death Eaters, power-mad group that they are." He gave a wide smile, aware he was insulting himself.

Harry stared almost dumbly. He'd never seen Severus Snape, dreaded Potions professor, so completely relaxed and happy. It was bizarre and strangely compelling. "You're drunk, aren't you," he accused in a whisper, eyes wide.

"I've only had one," the man drawled, voice smooth and low.

He actually had to swallow before he spoke again. "On top of healing potions."

"Hmmm… Perhaps I am inebriated to a degree."

Harry felt something inside him give way. He laughed loudly. "Drunk and still using a bigger vocabulary than me."

"I'd have to be absolutely sloshed not to," Severus answered with a mischievous look from behind stringy bangs.

He laughed harder. Severus was teasing him! Suddenly he felt giddy and warm euphoria washed through him.

Severus chuckled as if caught up in Harry's laughter. "I should retire. I might cause quite the panic if the students found me in such a state."

Harry tried to straighten, to dim his smile, but it was impossible. "Go get some sleep. I'd hate to be responsible for an epidemic of massive heart failure."

"Still not quite up to my eloquence, but nice try, Harry."

He doubled over laughing and tossed a pawn at the man's head. "Smug bastard. Get out of here."

Severus went, an extra spring in his step, and Harry chuckled quietly to himself for many minutes afterward.

**xXxXxXx**

A tense, low murmur filled the Great Hall as everyone waited for the Daily Prophet's arrival. Everyday new articles spouted more and more theories regarding the source of the mysterious attack on Salisbury two weeks ago. Everything from Death Eaters to evil spirits of Druids past had been blamed for the massacre. Voldemort sneered disdainfully as many students shot him speculating looks.

A rare few had even asked him up front if he thought it was "You-Know-Who". He'd kept his mouth shut so far, not sure how he wanted to spin this. He didn't particularly want to make declarations that many would count as wild and baseless. Doing so certainly wouldn't help him acquire more political connections.

As the owls arrived, silence fell, even at the Head Table. Voldemort snatched his copy from the bird, making it squawk angrily. Ignoring the feather-ball, he snapped the paper open. He expected more mindless hysterical babble not a headline in large, bold lettering reading:

**OKNEY ISALNDS, MANCHESTER, AND SOMERSET ATTACKED **

**PRELIMINARY COUNT PUT DEATH TOLL OVER SEVENTY**

Cold fury settled over him. The paper tore in half in his clenched hands. Why hadn't he seen the attacks in a vision? Had Potter not done anything about the attacks?

"First Luna and now this. Looks like snake face is finally making his move," Ron murmured with a shake of his head.

"Harry, are you okay? You look pale." Hermione squeezed his shoulder, voice saturated with worry.

"Oh, leave off," he snarled as he stood, yanking away from her grasp. He strode furiously from the Hall, aware of the eyes boring into him, reading all the wrong things in his gestures. He couldn't bring himself to care. Three attacks at once, and he hadn't seen a thing!

Halfway to the doors, he was stopped by Dumbledore. "Harry, my boy, join me in my office a moment."

Noisy chatter exploded at this very public command. Voldemort's scowl deepened. Meeting the blasted fool was the last thing he wanted right now. He suspected Potter had Severus report that Muggles were responsible, but he had no doubt that, were this the case, Dumbledore would still insist it was some Death Eater plot. It reminded him forcibly why he hated the man so much. Dumbledore had always been obsessed with seeing him as the source of all evil, even when he'd been a student. Granted, he often had been, but still!

There was no hope for it. He couldn't disobey. Not yet. He was still trapped in the role he'd assumed. Revealing his true colors, so to speak, too early would only condemn him to a fate worse than being the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He'd either be sent to St. Mungo's insanity ward or Azkaban.

He turned and made his way to the Headmaster's office. Within minutes, he was standing in the cluttered, whirling, chirping madman's laboratory, and solemn blue eyes regarded him from under bushy eyebrows.

"Harry, are you certain you haven't experienced any visions?"

"Nothing, Headmaster," he answered evenly. It was the best he could do. He was too angry to be able to pull off earnest. "What if it really is Muggles? If they're anything like my uncle, I believe it's possible. Muggle technology has come a long way." He enjoyed the slight wince the mention of Vernon Dursley had earned him.

"Muggles wouldn't be able to weaken magic." Dumbledore shook his head firmly. "No. I'm certain it is Dark magic at work. Tom has always been a clever adversary as you've seen in the memories I've shown you of his childhood and teenage years. He is clearly trying to turn us against Muggles."

"He hates Muggles. He'd never work with them," he argued.

A glare worked its way onto his features despite his best effort. He hated when the old bastard referred to him using his birth name. Tom Riddle, he wished he could banish the memory of that name from history. He was Lord Voldemort! And Dumbledore was wrong. He'd never use such a plan. Sure, on the surface, using Muggles to hurt wizards and thus force the Wizarding world turn on the filthy animals sounded good, but he'd never put such a weapon into Muggle hands. It wasn't a smart move from a self-preservation standpoint. Besides, he'd never lower himself to such standards. He was a Dark Lord! He needed no Muggle help taking his rightful place as Ruler of the Wizarding world!

"I'm sure he will kill them as soon as he has no more use for them." Dumbledore sat straighter. "If he were truly concerned about a Muggle invasion, he wouldn't have time to implement assassination attempts."

He blinked in honest bewilderment. "Assassins?"

"I'm afraid so." Dumbledore stared at him sadly. "It appears Miss Lovegood was under the Imperius curse. She was ordered to give you a cursed necklace, but the spell went awry. She ended up suffering the curse instead."

Oh, this was ridiculous! How the hell the senile man twisted his playing with the Lovegood girl into proof that Muggles were blameless even as they massacred wizards was beyond Voldemort's understanding. "Did she die?" That would be the only consolation.

"We were able to save her life, but we are uncertain if there will be long term damage or not." Dumbledore mistook his grimace and softened his voice still further. "She's at St. Mungo's now, receiving the best care. Harry, do not blame yourself. I am at fault for allowing such darkness into the school."

He shook his head, saying nothing.

Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Are you ready for another lesson? I fear we need to work quickly. We are running out of time."

"Of course, Headmaster."

Unfortunately Dumbledore didn't move toward the hidden staircase that led to the roof, where they normally dueled and practiced battle magic. Instead, he moved toward the cabinet that held all of the old man's Pensieve memories. Voldemort kept his expression attentive while Dumbledore blathered on about the significance of the memory. When the lecture came to an end, Voldemort placed his face into the stone basin filled with memory-tainted water.

He watched as his teenage self confronted Slughorn about Horcruxes, but the memory twisted before the word was ever said. In the falsified memory, Slughorn threw him out immediately. In reality, they had quite a long discussion about the Dark Art of splitting one's soul to gain immortality.

Dumbledore stared at him intently. "Did you notice anything strange about the memory, Harry?"

"It was muffled toward the end," he replied, knowing what the man wanted to hear. Inside he was seething with impatience. Did they really have time for this? It was clear the bastard knew of his Horcruxes. He even knew a few of the physical items he'd used to store several pieces of his soul. Why was he bothering with these head games? Why didn't he just spit it out and get on with whatever he was planning? It was enough to make Voldemort want to curse the man into oblivion.

"It is very important that you manage to obtain the true memory of this event," Dumbledore insisted.

"Of course, sir. I will do my best," he lied sweetly.

"Good. That's very good, my boy."

He watched curiously as the Headmaster went back to his desk and sat down heavily. "Are you well?"

"Just tired. I'm not as young as I once was." The ancient wizard smiled up at him. "Go on, Harry. I'm sure you have much to think about."

He left, feeling thoughtful, the idea of Dumbledore weakening assuaging his rage. Maybe Harry Potter's coming to power was closer than he'd thought. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. Once he had control of the Light, he'd be able to guide them against the Muggles. Obviously Potter couldn't be counted on to protect them, not if the report of these last attacks was accurate. He would destroy the Muggles, and then the Light from the inside. Out of the ashes, he would return to his true place as a Dark Lord. Potter… He wasn't sure about Potter yet, but he was confident he'd be able to engineer some type of cage to hold him, be it physical or mental. Yes. Possibly things weren't as dire as they had first appeared.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry stared down at the Daily Prophet in horror. The death tolls at Somerset and Manchester kept rising every day. No one had been prepared. They'd had no idea how to defend themselves effectively against the Muggle weapons or how to compensate for the limitations placed on their magic and almost a hundred civilians had died. Seven Aurors had been among that number! Only thirteen had died on the Orkney Islands, though the wounded list had been almost triple that number.

This wasn't working. His Death Eaters couldn't be everywhere. Only the Dark villages had agreed to the distress signal. He had no way of knowing if other places were being attacked. But what could he do? Severus had done his best to convince Dumbledore of the truth, but the Headmaster had no reason to believe it. Meanwhile, the Ministry had no idea what to believe. They were too busy running around panicking as more reports of damage and death poured into their offices. There were dozens of refugees clamoring for new homes, demanding compensation as their livelihoods were destroyed.

"I have to get their attention," he muttered. "If this continues, everything will be lost."

What could he do that would shock them into rationality? He had no idea! Growling, he stood and paced around the study. _I wish Hermione was here. And Ron. They'd help me think of something, _he thought miserably. _What would Severus do?_

Suddenly he froze. That was it! He needed to think outside the box. He couldn't convince them as an ally would. He had to convince them as their enemy! He ran to the bookshelves and grabbed for the heavy tomes. He flipped through them quickly. The passage he was looking for was in the fifth one…

Alliance Treaties between Feuding Powers…

**xXxXxXx**

Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stumbled from the floo like an ungainly toddler. He didn't even seem to be aware of the ash and soot he trailed across the floor. In his defense, he was likely preoccupied by the document clutched in his meaty hand. Cornelius slammed the unbelievable thing down on Albus' cluttered desk, uncaring about the papers he smashed in the process.

"Did you see this?" His round belly swelled as his cheeks puffed up.

Albus took up the parchment. "I received my own copy, yes," he admitted darkly.

Yanking the green bowler hat from his head, revealing thinning limp hair, Cornelius mopped at his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. "We must sign it."

"No, that will be playing right into the Dark Lord's hands." He stood and made his tone as soothing as possible. "Once he realizes this won't get him what he wants, the attacks will cease. You don't want to give power to the one who designed these massacres. Notice his demands, Cornelius. Notice the villages that lean toward the Dark are not suffering as much as those made up of Light or Neutral inhabitants."

"I notice his promises!" The Minister was beat red by this point. "He'll swear an oath to defend us when called! He'll swear not to break anymore laws!"

Albus slapped his hand on the desk in agitation. "If you revoke the laws that don't suit him! Be serious!"

"I am serious! This treaty binds Him as much as it does us. You will sign the blasted thing!"

"I will not," he answered gravely. "This treaty is a mockery."

"I'll be back, Albus," Cornelius snarled. He snatched the treaty from the desk and marched back to the fireplace, flooing away in a flash of green fire.

Albus sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he sat gingerly back in his seat. After a moment, he felt his temper settle. A flick of his wand and his Patronus flew through the wall and down into the school. He glared at the offensive parchment while he waited. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Severus only kept him ten minutes.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

He'd let the distance between them remain for long enough. He understood the Dark Lord was exerting pressure over the man via the foul Dark Mark, but things were becoming dire. "Sit down, Severus. We need to talk."

Severus remained cool and impassive, as if everything they'd worked for these last many years wasn't about to crumble around them. "What has happened?"

He slid the ornate scroll across the desk. "What do you know about this?"

Severus took the document and read it slowly. Albus wasn't encouraged by the surprise that flashed through those dark eyes. "An Alliance Treaty."

"I've had to press you to the limits of your ability before. I'm afraid I must do so again." He leaned forward earnestly, heart aching with the knowledge of what his request would cost his friend. "I need you to let me into your mind via a sympathetic potion."

His hope plummeted when Severus shook his head. "I'm sorry, Albus, but I'm bound too tightly by more than you know. It would likely kill me, no matter how careful you are when you look."

He sat back, almost overwhelmed with frustration. "We're losing, Severus. I need your help."

"I've given it. You do not listen."

"You give me words from your Master! They are not your own!"

Severus looked at him pityingly, and Albus curled his bad hand into a fist, almost relishing the agony it caused. "The Dark Lord can command my tongue but not my will. No matter how thorough his orders, I've always made my feelings clear to you."

He closed his eyes, forcing away his fear and panic. Time was running out. Death would soon be upon him. He had thought things would be in order before he died, but nothing was going according to plan. Not since the debacle at the Ministry that summer. He didn't understand current events any longer. Old, tired, and in pain, perhaps Severus was right and he wasn't as perceptive as he once was. Perhaps it was time to learn to listen once again.

Albus opened his eyes and solemnly requested one more chance. "Tell me again."

Severus straightened, a light returning to his eyes. Albus wondered how long he'd disappointed his friend and guessed it had been a while. No matter, he'd just have to see he didn't lose that trust again.

"I was with the Dark Lord the day of November 27th. We were discussing strategy. Of what I cannot say, but it was a relaxed interview. Nothing abnormal. Sebastian Nott interrupted. He was very distressed. The Dark Lord and I followed him to Salisbury, the magical town close to his estate. All was chaos. The Dark Lord was unmistakably furious. Two Death Eaters died in the battle that followed. Afterward, the Dark Lord implemented new training and had the women prepare healing potions. There was nothing to suggest this was according to some grand scheme. I've shown you the strategies devised to defend against the Muggle weapons. The Dark Lord would never arm the enemy with effective means to kill Dark wizards as well as Light."

Albus looked for any sign of strain or tension but found none. He stared thoughtfully down at the treaty delivered by the Dark Lord's owl without curse or poison. His fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. "And the attack on the Orkney Islands?"

"The Dark Lord negotiated with the Isle leaders and implemented an alarm system of some kind. I am ignorant of the particulars. The alarm sounded, he summoned us, and we went into battle."

"Can I view those memories?"

Severus inclined his head regretfully. "I do not have permission to show you. I could ask."

Albus nodded. "Do so."

Maybe there was truth to the Muggles being the aggressor despite how impossible it appeared. He didn't in the least believe Muggles were lesser beings, but they were clearly at a disadvantage against magic. However, these attacks suggested the opposite. That it was they who were at the disadvantage.

Even if he allowed this to be true, the Dark Lord's behavior was baffling. Albus had known Tom from the age of eleven, long before he had become Lord Voldemort. He'd fought against him for long years during the first war, and there was something significantly different about the man.

Why hadn't Tom retaliated with dramatic and essentially futile raids on the Muggle world? Why had he been so quick to include Albus, the enemy he bitterly hated, after only the first attack? He'd even asked for help, of all things, in a backhanded way with this treaty! Maybe these things were small enough for others not to notice, but to him they were glaringly obvious. What else was he to think except Tom was up to something devious? And Severus…

He'd known the man almost all Severus' life. He'd worked against the Dark Lord passionately without wavering despite the high costs such a path demanded of him. Ever since Tom killed the only person besides his mother that Severus had ever been able to love, he'd been the Dark Lord's enemy. So why did he lately seem more content with his position as a Death Eater?

Albus could almost see it. The key to this impenetrable puzzle, but it remained just out of reach. He was used to being able to see clearly the whys and objectives of every move Tom made. But he did not understand what this treaty gained the Dark besides the obvious, which wasn't enough to motivate a megalomaniac like Tom to propose a treaty in the first place. He did not understand what the Dark Lord gained by sharing battle strategies.

"Do you think I should sign the treaty?"

Severus held his gaze, neither of them blinking. "You should."

He sighed and looked away. "You may go."

Severus hesitated, but he stood and slipped out of the room without saying anything further.

It came down to this. What did he believe in more? The integrity of Severus Snape or the villainy of Tom Riddle? He wished he could say it was an easy choice. He had utmost faith in Severus, but possessed equal certainty in the evil that was the Dark Lord. He stared thoughtfully at the treaty, torn.

**Chapter end**


	11. Accord

**Accord**

Harry was standing in what he now considered the strategy room when Severus swept in.

"I have news, my Lord."

He handed the medical reports back to Narcissa. "We will continue this later."

She inclined her head gracefully and turned away, toward the table and maps.

Harry left the room, knowing Severus was following. Not due to any logical process but because the man's magic pressed against him. By the time they reached the warded study, Harry felt anxious. Intellectually he knew that the press of insistent magic meant Severus was pissed, but emotionally his heart pounded in his chest with reckless abandon. He almost thrilled in having the man's fierce attention, feeling his powerful magic press against his own.

He shook his head hard. Maybe lack of sleep was finally catching up to him because surly those weren't thoughts he'd have in his right mind. Putting distance between them, he settled into his chair. Severus marched right up, bypassing his chair, and leaned forward, both hands pressed to the dark wood of the antique desk.

"What were you _thinking?_ Or should I say _attempting_ to think," Severus snarled with a vicious sneer. "Since it's obvious you lack any sense!"

Harry frowned, sufficiently distracted now. "I thought you'd be impressed with the treaty."

"Why not simply allow me to tell Albus of the switch?" Dark eyes blazed into his own with barely restrained fury. "Why not tell the whole bloody world?"

"I used the mode of the Dark addressing other powers," Harry said defensively, crossing his arms. "Why would that cast me in doubt?"

"Because, you fool, Voldemort is a Dark Lord, not a measly follower of Dark doctrine." Severus pushed himself straight and glared fiercely. "He is more than a leader; he embodies all that the Dark is. Can you honestly believe he'd ask for help? And if he did propose such a harebrained scheme, would he choose the alliance that creates a balance of the powers? Never in history has that particular alliance treaty been suggested by the Dark! Only imposed upon it!"

Harry rubbed at his forehead, trying to hold on to his temper, but Severus' aggressive pose and the harsh words were making it difficult. "No. I don't think he would."

"So what were you thinking, you simpleton? You should have consulted me! The Death Eaters are already mumbling. Lucius' contacts in the Ministry alerted him almost the instant you sent the blasted thing to Fudge!"

"I know…"

"You know…" The snide disdain that dripped from the Potion Master's words threw him over the edge. "That's what you have to say for yourself?"

Harry exploded from his chair and slammed his hands down with a slap.

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! Maybe Voldemort wouldn't have done what I did, but it had to be done, and you know it. Voldemort wouldn't do this, Voldemort wouldn't do that! Be fucking grateful that I'm not your precious Lord Voldemort or we'd be slaughtered by now by the Muggles!" Harry came around the desk, advancing on the hateful man. "I think it's safe to say that the only chance we have is to do exactly what I'm doing! So yeah! It puts pressure on me. People are going to be watching more closely. Let them watch! They always do anyway! And if they do figure it out, they're still bound to _me_, not Voldemort, through the Dark bloody Mark! I have more things to worry about right now!"

Severus held his ground, his arms linking across his chest as he arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Harry leaned forward until they were practically nose to nose, poisonous red glaring into vicious black. "You have no idea what I have to deal with every _fucking_ day. The injured are suffering complications! The Dark villages are clamoring for a Death Eater in permanent residence in case the alarm doesn't bloody work!" Shoving his finger forward he poked Severus in the shoulder. "I have Death Eaters thinking we're in here shagging because what else could we possibly be doing for so long! I have them throwing themselves at me, offering sex in exchange for the favors I seem to bestow upon you!"

Severus slapped his hand away with a scowl. "Get a grip, Potter."

But he couldn't stop now that he'd gotten started. He flung his arms out wide, growing more hysterical. "I have a whole bloody slew of pregnant woman beginning to show and soon won't be able to do mass brewings like they've been, so now I have to figure out a new way to get the potions we need! I'm running out of money and will soon have to lean on the aristocrats to part with their beloved funds, but without letting them think they have say in how it's spent! More kids are clamoring to be marked, but all they'd be is cannon fodder. Which in some battles might be a useful thing, but the way this war is being fought it'd only slow us down."

Harry leaned even closer. "So don't come in here acting like I'm some student in need of scolding, Severus! I'm doing the best I bloody can to save this situation, which is IMPOSSIBLE, by the way! I'm stuck pretending to be evil while I trick everyone into playing nice so that we can BLOODY SURVIVE this insanity!"

Severus jerked away, putting distance between them. "Maybe so, but there is a reason we have worked so hard to keep anybody from knowing the truth of who you are, Harry. Including Albus. There will be consequences that could lose us this war just as quickly!"

"You know so bloody much, why don't you tell me what I should do," Harry demanded hotly. "Obviously I'm not good enough!"

Severus spun and glared daggers at him. "You think you've got it bad? You know nothing! If they figure it out, you will be torn to pieces. Albus would treat the pretender differently, and thus Voldemort would have no more reason to keep to his Good Potter act. He'd come running for his followers, and they'd jump at the chance of serving a Lord so cleverly disguised. Dark Mark or not, you won't survive the week!"

"I'm doing the best I can!" Harry was practically screaming.

Severus was screaming back. "It's not good enough!"

"You try doing this! It's not that easy!"

"_Easy_," Severus snarled. He stood with legs braced, head thrown slightly back in outraged defiance. "Try having _three_ lords to please! Try living a double life for _decades! _Try constantly fighting to preserve the smallest things because you're helpless to affect anything larger! You think my life is easy, _Potter_, you're delusional!"

"What do you want from me?" Harry stood rigid, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Perhaps the Dark is overwhelming in battle, but there is no reason to avoid it in other instances. To help you negotiate or maneuver among the Death Eaters…" Severus whole demeanor shifted, portraying a false calm, his voice dropping into a coaxing drawl. "I've studied every Dark Arts books in my possession. There is nothing in it about becoming overwhelmed unless you allow it or invite it in. If you remain in control of your emotions and thoughts, you should be safe."

"Except that it makes you want to throw away all that control," Harry scoffed. "The Dark is all about abandon and self-gratification."

Severus inclined his head. "That's why you have to have such rigid control, to keep from being lost when you do give in completely. As, for example, in battle. Yes. Exactly. So don't give in during battle, other times it should be safe."

"But it's not! It doesn't work that way for me!"

"Save me the poor me act," Severus sneered. "You are no different from every other wizard in this regard."

Harry barked a harsh laugh. "Are you kidding me? The same as every other wizard?" He shook his head. "No. I won't give in to the Dark. Not for anything."

Severus' face went ugly. "Glad to know how deep your prejudices go. I should have known you'd be like the others, dismissing my advice whenever it suits. I'm just an insignificant pawn to you, aren't I? In that you are just like every wizard who climbed to the title of Lord."

Harry gaped, but Severus stormed out before he had a chance to recover. With a roar of rage, he threw a book at the chess board standing innocently to the side. Those accusations had hurt! He in no way saw Severus like that. The man was his friend, the only thing keeping him sane most days. And it was infuriating that Severus would hold him at fault for things he had no power over. It wasn't his fault that Severus had been forced to be a spy. It wasn't his fault Dumbledore wasn't listening. Nor was it his fault that Severus had been abused by most of the people in his life. Still, Harry felt miserably unhappy that he couldn't give him what he wanted.

Maybe sleeping would help. Stiff, tense, he made his way to the bedroom. The argument went round and round in his head, alternatively making him want to scream or cry. He blamed it on the exhaustion. By the time he fell on the bed, he was a mess. Panting, sweating, he just wanted to destroy something.

The Dark whispered… It was always whispering… But he could ignore it. It was so distinct. He didn't mistake it for his inner voice anymore. Not since he recognized what was happening. So he just ignored it. It wasn't difficult exactly, but it wore on him. As he lay there twisting the sheets in restless fists, he was almost tempted to give in. Not for Severus but because it would allow him some peace at last. Eyes burning, he flung open the night-table drawer and pulled out a sleeping potion. He drank it down quickly. His heart beat was forcibly made to slow, his damp eyes finally shutting.

The whispers followed him down. He wasn't allowed peace, even while asleep.

**xXxXxXx**

**Muggle Bridge Attacked by Dark Magic!**

**70 Muggles Dead!**

**Killed by Death Eaters or Some New Faction?**

**Are They Saviors or Terrorists?**

These were just a few of the headlines. Voldemort put the Daily Prophet down, fighting to hold in his smirk. Maybe Potter wasn't as useless as he seemed. This was more like it.

"See! I told you it was just Death Eaters stirring up trouble," Ron said triumphantly. "It was some plan to get us to turn against Muggles, and now that it didn't work, they're going after their real target."

"The Light and Neutral towns did suffer most," Lavender agreed eagerly. "You're so smart, Ron!"

"The first attack was on a Dark enclave. Salisbury, remember," Hermione argued.

Voldemort eyed her in surprise. "You don't think it's Death Eaters?"

"I think until we have conclusive proof, it would be stupid to say one way or another. There are all those eyewitness reports of warriors in black robes and masks attacking the invaders. Sounds an awful lot like Death Eaters, especially with the types of spells they were using in battle."

"But why would they do that," Ron demanded. He scowled hotly at the girl. "It doesn't make sense."

"Nothing does anymore," she muttered.

Voldemort caught her eye and flashed a smile, hoping to reassure her. He'd have to do something about her soon if her suspicions didn't dissolve.

"Where's Dumbledore? He's gone again!" Dean stabbed at his breakfast eggs in annoyance.

"The Minister probably needed to see him." Hermione shrugged and turned her attention back to the paper.

Voldemort let his eyes drift to the Head Table. He was pleased to see the tense expressions on many of the teachers' faces. He especially liked to see the fierce glower on the Betrayer. Obviously things weren't going well for the spy. He almost did cackle then. He rose quickly and made his way out of the Great Hall before he could blow his cover. He had to lay low. After the Lovegood incident, he couldn't afford any more attention. He shivered pleasantly as he recalled her torment.

"Harry."

He turned to see Draco hurrying after him down the corridor. A truly malicious smile pulled at his lips. "Draco… I was just thinking about you."

**xXxXxXx**

Harry stalked from the dungeons. Blood splattered his hands and face. The scent of error-musk and human filth clung to his robes. He left both as they were. Furious, sick to his stomach, he swept into the throne room. It was empty except for Lucius kneeling a few feet in front of his throne. The man had pushed him past his limit of tolerance. This was the final straw.

"What do you have to say to yourself, Lucius," he asked oh so gently.

The man kept his head bowed. "My Lord, I had no idea what they would do. I only encouraged them not to give up after being dismissed from the Dark Mark. They can still be of service to you, my Lord."

Harry snarled. His blood-streaked hand snaked out and violently lifted the aristocrat's chin. He stared into composed blue and ripped into Lucius' memories.

**O**

Lucius paced restlessly across the garden. The sun had long ago set, and the rows of perfectly sculpted bushes and night blooming flowers might as well not be there for all the attention he paid them. His thoughts were circling around one Severus Snape. Lucius wasn't blind. A few times a week Severus arrived at the Dark Lord's manor and disappeared into the study for hours at a time. Sometimes neither would leave the room until dawn. He wondered why they didn't just use the bedroom. It was blatantly obvious what was going on behind that warded door.

The conniving little snake had always been good at making himself indispensable to those in power, but this was taking things too far. Lucius suspected Severus was trying to set himself up as some sort of consort. At first, he'd been amused by the high and mighty Severus Snape whoring himself to the Dark Lord, but it had been months and the Dark Lord didn't seem to be tiring of the Potion Master's presence. Not even the war had disrupted the meetings. In fact, as far as Lucius was aware, and he made it his business to be aware, the Dark Lord slept with no one else. This disturbed him greatly for many reasons.

One, Severus was hardly breathtaking. He'd been mildly attractive as a young man, but the years had taken their toll. So there was something else drawing the Dark Lord's attention, and Lucius had no idea what that could be, except perhaps the thrill of conquering the unconquerable. Surely, after months, that little game would be growing tiring. He hated not knowing.

Two, Lucius would not see that Half-blood urchin in a position of power above Lucius' own. Severus' mother may be from a respected bloodline, but his father was a filthy Muggle. Not even a Muggleborn!

And last, he feared the possibility of Severus distracting their Lord – perhaps on Dumbledore's order. Lucius didn't think it was possible. His Lord was too crafty for that, but there had been too many missed opportunities to advance the Dark to be overlooked anymore.

He'd allowed that the Dark Lord might have some motive for pretending distraction or relative benevolence, but that wouldn't explain everything. For example, the Dark Lord could have demanded a higher price from the villages for his protection. And why was he so much on the defensive? Why weren't they striking back? Why were they sharing strategies with the Light? Those Muggle-lovers deserved what they got for courting such filth in the first place. And then there was this _treaty_… Lucius really had no words to describe his revulsion of such a binding.

A sharp crack drew his attention. "Master, yous guests have arrived."

"Send them out."

He positioned himself in the center of the path and waited. Six young men came trailing out, eyes darting around to try and pierce the shadows of the night, made deeper by the lush plants. When they caught sight of Lucius, they hesitated before coming forward. Lucius' heart beat with steady power as he surveyed the weaker men.

"Welcome. Please walk with me." He turned his back, displaying his confidence in his position and ability while simultaneously dismissing them as threat.

They had only gone a few yards when the silence was broken. "Why have you called us here?"

"You are disappointed that the Dark Lord overlooked your offered skills," Lucius remarked casually. His cane tapped at the pathway, a rhythm that pleased him. He turned his head, his long hair shimmering in the moonlight as it fell over his shoulder. "There is a way to redeem yourselves in His great eyes."

The six looked back at him, wary as snakes.

Lucius gave them a gentle smile. "Two from our august ranks have passed on and many are incapacitated. I know you have capabilities that would benefit our cause, and it saddens me to see those of such worthy bloodlines squandering their true potential. The trick is demonstrating you are in possession of such skills."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"I suggest you see this as a test. Do not give up after a single refusal," Lucius chided. "Is not the honor of serving your Lord worth pursuing?"

They stared thoughtfully, saying nothing.

"If I were you I'd consider what would best please our Lord." He turned and continued up the path. "Simply provide for that need, and you will show how indispensable you are."

When he didn't hear them follow after him, he stopped and turned back. The six were grouped close together, sharing significant glances.

"You obviously have many things to think over. Perhaps we should part for the night. Mitsy, show our guests to the door."

**O**

"It is as I said, my Lord. I had no idea what they planned. I was hoping for something more discrete. Possibly more worthy recruits," Lucius said softly, voice faint from the pain of the migraine.

Harry practically flung him to the floor. "You are displeased with the way I lead my Death Eaters, Lucius? You think you can do better?"

"No, my Lord!" Lucius scrambled to his knees. Sweat dripped down his perfectly chiseled features.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. Dark spells were being whispered in his mind. _Use them, make him suffer, give in to me, you'll come to need me, don't I help you, just give in, I can give you more than spells..._ Harry pushed it away. He didn't want help for this. "You think you can do better than Severus to please me?"

Lucius paused. His eyes lifted as he looked up through his lashes. "My Lord?"

"You are so certain you can please me, Lucius. Prove it." Harry stepped back and sat gracefully in his throne, hands gently clasping the end of each arm-rest. "Strip. Slowly."

Pale but intrigued, the man rose up on his knees, back straight. Eyes at half-mast, Lucius began to unbutton his robes. Harry said nothing, made his face expressionless, even as he let the Dark magic swirl lazily around him, making teasing swipes at Lucius' own. Flushed, breathing faster, Lucius grew more and more bold. He slowly exposed his collarbone. He arched his back just enough to let his nipples press against the fabric as the robes fell from his shoulders, revealing a dark blue silk undershirt and slacks.

Lucius rocked his hips just slightly as he pulled the undershirt up, revealing a strip of pale skin at his abdomen. He wasn't skinny and lean like Severus. He had some meat on him, but he wasn't fat. Inch by inch, he pulled his shirt up. Pale blond, curly hair scattered thinly across his chest, circled his nipples. There were no scars. The blond reached for the button on his trousers.

"Stop."

Lucius froze.

Harry stood and walked slowly forward. The closer he got, the more the man strained forward, bathing in the Dark magic Harry let pulse freely from his core. It made the whispers louder, harder to ignore, but he forced himself to focus.

"You look like a stripper, Lucius. A little whore. Is that what you are?"

A brief look of anger flashed over the aristocratic features. "I am what you need me to be, my Lord."

Harry circled him. "So wanton." He spread his magic through the room. A rhythmic pulse that couldn't be heard, only felt. "Dance for me, Lucius."

Flushed, the blond rose to his feet. He hesitated.

Harry drew his fingertips down the man's lips, chin, neck, stopping at the hollow dip. "Please me, Lucius."

The Malfoy Lord leaned his head back, revealing the thin bloody trail Harry had left on his skin. His hips did a seductive little gyration, bringing attention to his erection. "Will you tell me what you did to them, my Lord?."

"I tortured them. Made them scream. Made them bleed," Harry answered softly.

He had no idea what he was doing. The most he'd done was kiss Cho last year. It was wet and quick, the girl bursting into tears afterward as she thought about her dead boyfriend. But the Dark was whispering, magic pulsed through the room, and he was _angry_ at this insidious little servant. He reached out and twisted those dusky nipples, making the man arch with a groan.

"Do you like that," he hissed.

"My Lord," Lucius groaned. His whole body was swaying, glistening with sweat.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Lucius?" He lifted his hand, brought his fingers to the man's lips, thicker and smaller than Severus'. "Taste their suffering."

Lucius hungry lapped at the digits. It sent pleasant shivers down Harry's spine and he pulled his hand away. He was done with this game. He felt strange and uncomfortable.

"Severus pleases me. He deserves my touch. You, Lucius, you enrage me."

The poised Dark magic gathered and crashed down. The blood the man had just tasted had carried the suffering of the six young men he'd influenced. Lucius collapsed with a piercing scream of agony. The man writhed on the floor. He screamed and arched with pure anguish as his body was tortured. Harry watched dully as the Dark purred in his ear. He was too tired to push it away.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus was not in a pleasant mood. He'd just spent three hours healing his godson who refused to go to Pomfrey. Perhaps she would have knocked some sense into the blasted boy. Draco insisted Harry was sorry. He didn't mean to let things get so out of hand. He was practically frantic in apology. Severus almost slapped the stupid boy silly for such idiocy, although he did understand why Draco clung so persistently to the idea that this was okay. The alternative was to admit he was a victim, and that possibly rivaled the pain of the actual abuse. Needless to say, he was not in a good mood.

"What is it?" He practically snarled the words as soon as he stepped into Albus' office.

Three heads turned toward him and he froze.

"Severus, my boy. I've come to agree that I should sign the treaty," Albus said gently, eyes dark instead of sparkling.

Severus stared dumbfounded. "I see. And you are telling me because?"

Rufus Scrimgeour snorted. "We need a witness."

"Is that what you are," Severus sneered.

"No. I've been elected the new Minister. It will be announced in the Daily Prophet tomorrow."

Severus blinked at that in utter surprise. "What happened to Fudge?"

The lion-like man gave a shark smile. "Seems the public is in an uproar about all these attacks. The Muggle Prime Minister insists the Muggle invaders are not being sanctioned and has no idea where they are coming from. He is vastly distressed that his innocent civilians are being attacked in retaliation and needs some proof of our ability to stop this. Therefore, it was decided a war-time leader was needed."

"I see," Severus said stiffly. "And Mr. Weasley?"

"Percy is my witness," Scrimgeour answered calmly. "Now can we continue, gentlemen? We have no time to waste."

"Are we signing it now?" Severus was almost dizzy with the shock. He never thought Albus would commit to this. He scanned his old mentor's face. Had he figured something out? It was maddeningly impossible to tell.

"We are signing the acceptance to the treaty. Then both sides will formally draw up their demands and promises. A neutral date will be selected where all of us will meet to sign the Treaty of Unifying Powers," Albus explained.

Severus watched as Scrimgeour and Albus put down their names on the agreements and recommended a date to finalize the treaty. It was a solemn affair. Severus and Percy, looking pale but determined, both signed their names as witnesses. As soon as it was done, the Ministry officials left and Severus turned to Albus.

"You believe it is Muggles?"

"I believe so, and also that there is more going on. As Rufus stated, the official Muggle governments have no idea who the attackers could be. Yet they are obviously well equipped. I fear something very sinister is at work, and for once it is not of the Dark Lord's making." Albus sat behind his desk. He didn't look away, but Severus couldn't help feeling he was hiding something.

"Where have you been," he asked slowly.

"Helping tend the refugees as per the Ministry's request."

Severus stared. Albus stared back.

"Thank you for your assistance," the Headmaster spoke first. "I hope it does not cause problems with the Dark Lord, you witnessing for the Light."

Severus stared harder. "He will be pleased that I've risen so high in your esteem. He might now expect more accurate and detailed reports on your movements."

"With this treaty, he will see my movements for himself." Albus waved that away. "I am tired, my boy. Go. Tend to your Slytherins. I know they are restless. The other Houses have been unkind to them lately."

Severus snorted. "You think? They're seen as miniature Death Eaters."

"They have a good guardian. I'm sure they will be fine."

Severus stood stiffly, annoyed. He was being shut out while simultaneously his Slytherins were being dismissed. Had any other House been treated the same way as the Slytherins, the Headmaster would have stepped in and stopped it. "I'm pleased to have assisted you," he said dryly. He didn't wait for a response before storming away. Again he was shunt aside once he was no longer useful. Bitter and furious, he returned to the dungeons to brood.

**xXxXxXx**

The Great Hall was absolutely still, a huge vacuum of silence. Ron was certain this was just a bunch of lies. It's not like the Prophet was reliable, after all. But one fact kept jumping out at him. Albus Dumbledore had signed it in agreement. A treaty. With the Dark. He stared across at Harry and Hermione. Both were staring intensely at the Head Table. Ron forced his eyes to follow theirs.

Dumbledore stood. He looked stronger than he had in weeks. "My dear students. These are dark and confusing times. We need to look to each other, to remind us of the path under our feet. It is easy to be led astray by certainties that are by no means certain." His eyes swept the Hall. "It is to my shame that I believed for too long what I wanted to see. Indeed, we all need to be sure that we see things for how they are. I have confirmed the attacks were committed by Muggles with a technology to weaken magic. Closely questioning the Muggle Prime Minister has revealed that these terrorists are not sanctioned by any government. They are a powerful renegade group being hunted by both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds."

"What about the Death Eaters?"

The cry could have come from all of them, but it was only one voice that spoke. Ron was startled to realize it had been his own. Dumbledore stared at him, and he wanted to melt into his seat.

"The Death Eaters still support their own beliefs, but first and foremost they will protect the magical world from annihilation. They have agreed that while this threat is upon us, they will cease their war and help defend our world."

The Great Hall exploded into sound.

Ron stared across the table once more. Harry was looking back at him. There was no expression in his face or eyes. Hermione, on the other hand, looked thoughtful and determined. Both of them were silent as the others talked loudly in rising confusion, disbelief, and fear. The world had just changed drastically. Again. Ron felt a bit of fear himself. How were they to navigate an increasingly confusing world?

Harry stood. Without a word. Without betraying a single thought or feeling. He walked away. Ron felt no urge to follow this time. Neither must have Hermione. She stayed at the table.

"What are we going to do?"

She looked over at him and shook her head. "I don't know. But I have a bad feeling about this."

Ron could only nod. "I do, too."

**xXxXxXx**

Harry leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. The Daily Prophet lay open on the desk. He wished he had someone to talk to. Ron. Hermione. Severus. God, he missed Severus. It'd been almost a week since their fight. He wanted to call him back, but what would he say? Sorry, I still can't do what you want? That wouldn't go over well.

The Death Eaters were becoming recalcitrant. They wanted to follow the renegade's footsteps, attack the Muggles. They wanted recognition, fueled by the paper acknowledging them as innocent. It even subtly called them heroes. They wanted more. They wanted it now. And they were not pleased that Harry had closed his will and magic around them and demanded obedience and patience. He'd had to torture the lot of them before he was certain they wouldn't run off and do something against his will.

He was getting mighty sick of screams. Of blood. He never wanted to see blood outside the skin again!

Now he had to draft the formal demands and vows of his side of the treaty. The wording had to be so careful or he'd pledge himself to something he didn't mean. Severus wouldn't help him. He thought the treaty was a bad idea. And he couldn't ask any other Death Eater. They'd get suspicious that he'd need help with such a thing. He was stuck. Frustrated, tired, he paced the room. The blank, expensive scroll that waited for his words mocked him from the desk.

_I need help, Severus. And I'm sick of needing it! Why can't I ever follow through? I start shite and can't ever get through it on my own! Severus is right. Damn it! I'm just a kid! Even if I don't feel like it, or look like it! I don't know what I'm doing! Severus would know what to do. But I started this. I have step up. I can't back out now! Get it together, Harry!_

His frenetic thoughts whirled as he paced. He scowled, trying not to think of his absent friend and focus on the treaty. It was impossible. Harry felt sick at the thought that their short friendship was gone, and they'd go back to hating each other. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, but circumstances prevented him from being able to. Besides, the Dursleys taught him how useless it was to beg anyone for anything they didn't want to give.

With the practice of many years, Harry gritted his teeth and forced all his personal concerns to the back of his mind. They would just get in the way of him getting work done. Almost obsessively he sat and pulled tomes closer to get examples of wording and how treaties had been used against the signer due to careless phrases. He needed this to be perfect. Then Severus would see he wasn't stupid or foolish. He'd see this was actually a good idea.

**xXxXxXx**

The Christmas season was not the usual joyous affair it normally was. Ever since last week's paper announcing the treaty and confirmation of Muggle involvement, the school had been a dark and depressive place. Thankfully most of the castle was now empty due to the winter holiday. If Voldemort had a say, he wouldn't be trapped in the castle either. He'd be at the Ministry with Dumbledore, as his witness. It still made him want to explode to learn the bastard had made _Severus_ his witness. The trust between them must run very deep indeed.

Voldemort sat in Hogwarts' dusty library with an irritable scowl on his face. His skin literally itched to burn something, to destroy it. But instead he was trapped, neutered. Too furious to bother with appearances at the moment, he aimed his poisonous glare out the window and fought to maintain a tentative calm.

"There you are." Draco stepped up behind him and rubbed at his tight shoulders. It felt good enough that Voldemort let him. "You've been shut up all day. Come out with me."

"Yes because I love tromping around in cold, wet snow," he sneered viciously.

"You can't do anything about the treaty right now. You'll just worry yourself sick." The teenager bent and licked coyly at the shell of his ear. "A distraction would be good for a while."

Draco's attempt at seduction was laughable. "If you're craving a dick up your arse so badly, go whore yourself to someone who's interested. I'm busy."

The blond snatched his hands away as if burned. "Fuck you, Potter."

Voldemort tilted his head back and met the furious silver eyes. He smiled coldly. "Now you're losing your memory. You're the slut in this relationship, not me."

He smirked as Draco stormed away. The boy had been right, distracting himself had been pleasant. It was also pleasant to picture seducing the boy into a better temper with false apologies and gentle words of affection, then ravaging his willing body. But such thoughts only occupied him for a short time, and he went back to contemplating the man he loathed above all others.

_Albus Dumbledore_… This Alliance was a situation that he'd always dreamed of, forcing the Ministry and the high and mighty Light Lord to recognize his power. To admit they needed him. And he wasn't even going to be involved! Dumbledore had confined him to Hogwarts! _For his safety,_ Voldemort remembered with fury. The body-switching had never seemed so horrible as it did now. One thing was certain. He would kill Dumbledore one day.

**O**

Hermione bit her lip as she watched Draco storm away from Harry. She felt wretched. She loved Harry. And her heart bled for the things he'd suffered in his short years. He'd been through events that would break grown adults, let alone a teenage boy. First the abuse he'd suffered growing up, then almost being killed every year, then losing his godfather last year and learning of the prophecy. Knowing you were the only one who could save or damn everyone was a heavy burden. The discovery of his sexual preferences had to add to that pressure. But as much as she ached with sympathy, she was utterly horrified by her suspicions.

Ever since Harry had confessed to his relationship with Draco, she'd been watching the blond Slytherin more closely. She didn't like what she saw. Draco was growing more unpredictable and manic, which was a complete deviation from his usually cool, smug persona. He'd even begun to look unwell. For a boy as vain as she suspected Draco of being, this said rather a lot.

At first she explained it away by Draco suffering stress from his changed alliances and traumatic experiences over summer. But if he'd truly found peace in his alliance with Harry, and had fallen in love on top of that, he should show improvement, not deteriorate as the weeks wore on. No, it wasn't due to stress that had Draco unraveling. It was because of _Harry_. For the longest time, she looked for some other explanation – anything else! – but it always came back to this.

Agonized, torn between loyalty to her best friend and her fear that there was something wrong with the way he treated Draco, she dreaded saying anything, of making her suspicions true. Surely she was wrong! This was Harry! But she couldn't ignore it any longer. Not after watching Draco run away, clearly hurt and in tears, and seeing Harry sit there smiling, totally unconcerned.

Feeling like she was walking toward her death, she had to psych herself up before she approached the table. "Harry… Is everything all right between you and Draco?" Her friend looked up at her, and for one split second, it was as if a stranger were looking at her through his unique green eyes.

"We've just not been getting along as much lately," he answered, ducking his head. Perhaps because he was embarrassed or ashamed, but she was more concerned with the fact that it hid his expression. She wanted to see his face, to reassure herself that her fears were absurd.

"I think you really hurt his feelings," she suggested carefully.

"He's a Slytherin," Harry countered, too dismissively.

Hermione frowned. "This isn't like you, Harry."

Harry's face lifted and his expression was warm, anxious, and _familiar_. "You're right, Hermione. I shouldn't push him away. Sometimes I'm afraid to really let him get close to me. What would happen if I lost him, too?"

Relief washed through her as sympathy overcame her concern. "Harry… If you really like him, it's worth it. You don't want to be alone. You'll never be happy that way."

"He's a good friend. He always understands and forgives me." His expression became light and playful. "But it's not like I'm going to marry him, Hermione. I'm only sixteen you know." He stood and gathered his homework. "I'm going to go catch up with him. Thanks, Hermione." And with a brief grin, he walked away.

Hermione felt the relief slowly fade. Harry was absolutely right. It was a completely normal to have casual relationships, especially since he was a sixteen year old boy, but… She'd never expected Harry to feel like that. Denied affection and love for so long, Harry was very fierce in his attachments. She expected that to be amplified when he finally fell in love. And something about the conversation felt off, like his reactions were slightly out of place.

Deeply distressed, she went to find Ron. She'd stayed quiet as long as she could. She needed his opinion. Harry was really starting to scare her. In fact, she was afraid he wasn't just Harry anymore. She'd been doing research on possession. It was undeniable that the scar was a link to the Dark Lord. Voldemort had sent Harry visions last year, had actually possessed him completely at the Ministry. Granted that was helped in part due to their close proximity and possession wasn't as easy as all that, but something was wrong with Harry. She was certain now.

She stepped out of the library and her thoughts went black as she lost consciousness.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry's face remained impassive as he stepped up to the large round table. Dumbledore stood across from him, his shrewd eyes blank and his expression empty. It was slightly unnerving, but he was able to keep his cool by reminding himself that Dumbledore didn't see _him_. He saw Voldemort.

"Are we ready to begin," Percy asked a bit faintly. He knew he was the weakest link at the table.

Scrimgeour and Severus both shot him disgusted looks.

Harry thought it was pretty sad that he was jealous of the pompous redheaded. He'd take any kind of acknowledgement from the man who had yet to look at him once. To distract himself, he focused on the new Minister. That had caught him totally by surprise, and his Death Eaters weren't happy to have their manipulative Minister taken out of office and an independent leader put in his place.

The man had tawny hair that rose around his head like a lion mane, golden eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a fierce expression. He'd worked under Amelia Bones in MLE for years and at her death had taken her position as Head of the Aurors. The world had wanted a war-time leader, and they had gotten one.

Scrimegeour set the drawn up treaty in the middle of the table. "The agreed upon demands have all been recorded. I have already signed."

Dumbledore made no move to take the papers, so Harry smoothly took them up. He read it thoroughly. It stated all past deeds committed by the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eater forces would be forgotten, retribution withheld. Any future infractions against the laws set down by the Ministry would break the treaty, unless action was made that appeased the offended. It also stated that any and all laws constraining the traditions and ancient ways set down by Merlin would be rescinded.

Harry signed Voldemort's name with a flourish, pressing sweet Dark magic into the parchment as his seal that he'd hold himself and the Death Eaters to the demands and promises therein. He returned the papers to the table and waited.

"What game are you playing, Tom?" Dumbledore asked through narrowed eyes.

"I no longer play games, Albus," Harry answered coldly. "It's beneath me, and we cannot afford it."

Dumbledore looked sad for a moment, confusing Harry, but then a withered old hand took the document. The ancient name was drawn in ink and glorious Light magic filled the room for a split second as his seal was applied. Harry almost reacted, a disturbingly powerful need making his chest ache. God, that magic was so familiar and comforting and _right_.

"Thank you, Lords," Scrimegeour said neutrally. "Now for the witnesses."

Percy signed without reading. Harry assumed he'd read it in full before the meeting. Crispin Lestrange took up the document next and began to read. If Fudge or the new Minister were shocked that a Pureblooded aristocrat of such standing was functioning as the Dark Lord's witness, they didn't show it. Maybe it wasn't so surprising. Both Crispin's sons had gone to Azkaban with Dark Marks on their arm, after all. The old man pressed his name and magic to the paper. Then came Severus' turn. Harry supposed he should be angry to see his servant on the other side of the table. On the other hand, he should control his expression in front of outsiders. He wasn't sure.

Dark eyes flashed up to meet his own. There was surprise and approval there. The treaty was well done. Harry felt almost like grinning. The thirteen hours he'd worked nonstop on the blasted thing had been well worth it just for that. Harry knew by that one look their fight was over. Severus signed his name. The treaty was complete. They and their people – Death Eaters, Phoenix members, and Ministry employees – were bound by the guidelines laid out. Any deviance would result in severe magical repercussions as agreed.

**xXxXxXx**

Knowing Albus wouldn't look for him for several hours at the least, Severus left the castle and headed for the edge of the Apparation wards. Less than fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Riddle Manor. His mark led him to the throne room. All the Death Eaters were gathered silently, listening as the Dark Lord revealed the agreed upon strategy.

"Those I summon to help fight alongside the Aurors and the Light will represent the Dark with honor. If the treaty is broken because of one of you, I will not be pleased," he said lowly, almost hissing. "And if anyone thinks to make a raid without my permission…"

An invisible wall of magic fell, revealing the six men who attacked the bridge and Lucius Malfoy. All hung from hooks, embedded through their wrists. Their naked bodies clearly displayed the abuse they'd suffered. Thankfully, they were unconscious. Otherwise Severus was sure they'd be screaming.

Spines straightened as the Death Eaters answered, "Yes, my Lord."

Severus slipped out of the room deep in thought and headed for the study to wait for his Lord. Harry had done wonders, but Severus could feel a certain restlessness among the group of men. Harry still had control, but if things didn't ease soon, it would only be temporary. Most of the Death Eaters were out of the honeymoon phase now and were not inclined to let things slide. This treaty pushed them. None of them liked it, as Severus had known they wouldn't. All the same, he deeply regretted the distance he'd allowed to come between him and Harry. Between the problems he faced at school, dealing with Albus, and watching the pretender, he'd been too tired to come talk sense into Harry. It had been the wrong choice, he saw now, and he hoped the damage to their still fragile friendship wasn't permanent.

"I didn't expect you tonight."

Severus started. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard Harry come in. He watched through a curtain of oily hair as the Dark Lord took his seat behind the desk. He looked calm and relaxed, even happy to see him if the bright eyes were anything to go by. Severus sighed in relief.

"Albus needed to rest."

"Wore him out, did I?" The wry twist of thin lips had Severus mirroring him without realizing it.

"You are quite the mystery."

"Not to you," Harry countered softly. "I've missed you."

Severus' heartbeat quickened. He regarded the man across from him, trying to determine if he were imagining the subtle undertones. Half-lidded eyes watched him in return. Harry was leaning back in his chair, hands folded comfortably across his stomach. Feeling his blood pressure rise, Severus uncharacteristically said the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you still wearing the robe you borrowed from me this summer?"

Instantly the intimate atmosphere evaporated. Harry tried for a light tone anyway. "With cleaning charms, it's not like it's dirty."

"Why not get new robes," Severus pressed, intrigued. The red eyes dropped. He waited to see if he'd be answered.

"I can't stand seeing myself naked," the Dark Lord finally admitted.

"Harry…" Severus hadn't meant to stumble into something quite so personal. He knew from experience how painful self-loathing could become.

"I think I could use some rest as well." Harry stood and nodded farewell. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight," he answered, but he was already alone.

**Chapter end**


	12. Winter

**Winter**

Voldemort came down the stairs, his books under one arm, his other hand up to cover a large yawn. Getting up for these pointless classes was getting old, but McGonagall said if he missed any more despite his perfect test scores this year, he'd have detention with her every weekend.

"Harry, do you know what's up with Hermione?"

He glanced over at Ron. The redhead had fallen into step with him. Ahead of them, the bookworm walked with her head down, avoiding everyone else. Thankfully, the blood traitor wasn't suspicious that Granger had been tampered with. He merely thought it was like first year all over again.

"I bet she's worried about trouble for her kind."

Ron's eyes snapped over to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, Muggleborns. How else would the Muggles know so much about magic? Someone had to tell them. It was probably the Muggleborns who return to the Muggle world after getting their magical education. Most don't stay in the Wizarding world, you know."

"How do you know that?" Ron had stopped in the corridor, deep shock written across his face.

Voldemort was pleased to see others had stopped to listen as well. He gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's in public record. And it seems logical, doesn't it? It's not like a wizard would tell Muggles anything. Why would they?"

Harsh whispers followed them the rest of the way to class. He felt it was worth the strange looks Ron shot him. Especially since it had the redhead leaving him alone so he could stand guard over his secret crush to make sure no one bothered her. Voldemort snorted. Really, people were so easy to manipulate. He never had to actually lift a finger himself. Just a few statements at the right time to the right people and they would do his work for him. He predicted it would only be a matter of days now before the students turned on the Muggleborns. Teenagers could be so deliciously cruel sometimes.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry stood tall before his followers. The tension building over the last few days was gone, replaced by eagerness for battle. Of the twenty-eight Death Eaters he now possessed, only twenty-one were in any condition to fight. Still, those numbers were about as high as either force the Ministry or Dumbledore could muster. He hoped that would prevent any side from being overwhelmed and keep them true to the treaty. This first battle would determine if the tentative unity was possible or just an unrealistic ideal as Severus claimed.

"Stay in your teams. Don't let them get you alone. You know what to do. Remember you're better prepared than the Aurors or the Light. Our time has finally come, my loyal followers, to show the world how wrong they were to condemn us. If you see either struggling, you will do your best to take down their attackers. Finally show the world who holds the real power!"

A ragged cheer went up.

"Any deviance from my orders will be met with severe punishment," he warned once more, his eyes practically glowing as his power ran high in anticipation of battle.

With a snap of his magic, he Apparated away, towing the men along behind in his magical wake. They arrived, standing in perfect formation, in the Ministry atrium. Dumbledore and his twenty-two Order members stood across from them. They also stood in formation, but as one large group instead of the tighter, smaller groups that the Death Eaters formed behind Harry. To the right, thirty Aurors stood ready, they stood singly or in pairs. They'd probably fare better than the large group of Order members, but experience had taught Harry groups of three or four worked better offensively and defensively.

He lifted his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, a frown tugging his lips. Did they want to be slaughtered? But he had no time to give advice. Scrimgeour marched over and told them they'd been summoned because Derbyshire was being attacked. There was no time for discussion. They had to leave. Now.

Again Harry Apparated. Those who knew the location traveled by their own power, but he had to tow along those who didn't. (Luckily a quick scan of Severus' memories had showed him the location. It would have been embarrassing to be left behind.) He landed on the outskirts of a quaint village; stone cottages, large gardens, smelling lush and green. He felt the magical drain from the group Apparation jumps, which was increased by the stifling null bombs.

The wind changed and then all he could smell was fire, smoke, and panic. He hesitated. Where were the deafening bombs? Where were the machine guns? He could hear screams and cries on the wind, but those were the victims, not the attackers. Were they too late? He took a step forward only to see black-suited Muggles running out of the town. A growing hum could be heard. _Whomp whomp whomp_ – near silent helicopters falling from the sky. The soldiers were escaping now that those who could actually fight them had arrived.

With a surge of rage, Harry ran after them. He was sick of these darting strikes. He and his Death Eaters only killed a fraction of these blasted invaders before they pulled out. The civilians didn't fare nearly as well. Harry was tired of fighting, tired of hearing people dying and suffering. He was going to stop this. He was going to make these Muggles think twice before attacking the magical world ever again.

The Dark whispers were insidious, digging deep into his brain. He struggled to separate it from his thoughts, but it was difficult. There was no time to focus on that when the enemy was right in front of him and getting away.

The hovering helicopter turned to face him. A whistle, then the roar of a missile. Harry dove to the side and rolled. The missile impacted one of those perfect little cottages. It exploded with a deafening bang that was felt more than heard, shaking the ground, making each footstep uncertain. Harry was on his feet again. Running, throwing himself closer.

Another missile. Barely dodged. Explosions and fire.

The helicopter was rising, trying to get away, out of range. The soldiers abandoned on the ground dropped to their knees, providing cover. Perfectly timed, Severus dove in front of him with a shouted shield charm. Seconds. Harry only had seconds before that shield fell. It was all he needed.

His magic speared forward, his wand snapping like the bite of a snake.

Metal groaned. Those deadly blades bent down as if the ground was suddenly magnetized. With a mighty slam, the helicopter impacted the earth. The barrage of machine gun fire ceased as the soldiers scrambled out from underneath instant death. Harry felt like sitting down. His vision wavered. He couldn't catch his breath. But they were sitting in the open. The soldiers would regroup quickly. They had to return to town and relative shelter.

Severus wasn't thinking along those lines. He was darting forward, a blood-thirsty grin on his face as he went to finish off the injured and dying from the crash. Harry cursed and chased after him.

Maybe they could capture one to question. Usually it was kill or be killed. The few soldiers they'd managed to capture alive had bit down on poisoned tablets inserted in their back molars. The magical community couldn't keep fighting like this. They needed answers, a picture of these soldier's motivations. Otherwise they couldn't fight them effectively. As it was, they had no idea of these Muggle's goals or strategies.

Three of seven were dead by Severus' hand by the time Harry caught up, huffing and puffing.

"Wait."

Severus sneered, but he stopped the methodical shots he was delivering to each soldier's skull.

Harry secured two of the unconscious ones and Apparated back to his manor. He delivered them into the women's care with strict orders not to allow the soldiers to awaken. Then he returned to Severus, only to find all the other Muggles were dead. He shook his head at the arch look Severus shot him. He didn't argue. This was war. Without comment, he jogged off toward the increasingly loud sounds of battle, Severus at his side.

**xXxXxXx**

The battle had been fierce, but the wizards prevailed due to their unity. Harry felt triumphant despite the blood soaking his robes from a witch he'd been unable to help. His plan had worked. The Muggles were upping their firepower. With bigger weapons and more soldiers, had any one of the three groups gone alone, they would have been slaughtered.

He shared a fierce grin with Severus. They were both alive, and their enemies had been soundly beaten. Perhaps this would make them hesitate to attack again for a while. Better yet, they managed to secure prisoners. They might even get answers to their many questions.

The happy buzz evaporated, however, as he arrived at the Ministry.

Rodolphus and his brother were dueling Mad-Eye and Shacklebolt. Magic flew everywhere as the Light and Dark fell on each other. Harry let his magic flare with Dark fury. Instantly all the Death Eaters fell to their knees, bodies rigid with screams they refused to voice. Mad-Eye hit the helpless Rodolphus with a spell, and a sharp bark of pain escaped him.

Dumbledore sharply scolded the ex-Auror and ordered the Phoenix members to leave. Then he turned his attention to Harry.

"Are you dissolving the treaty," Harry asked coldly, honestly mad at the Headmaster. "I assure you they will be punished."

Dumbledore regarded him unhappily. "The treaty stands."

Harry inclined his head a fraction of an inch. "See to your own, Albus. I do not appreciate your little group antagonizing my men just so they can look innocent when they get the fight they wanted."

With that, he Apparated to the Manor, bringing the Death Eaters with him by force.

**xXxXxXx**

Rufus stomped up to the creepy dark manor that stood outside Little Hangleton. He banged on the door and was let into an entranceway. He was not impressed with the darkly majestic décor, nor the air of power that suffused the atmosphere.

"Right this way, Minister sir," the little elf said softly and led the way to a side room.

It was geared toward conversation. Dark wood walls, deep red carpet, golden upholstery on the couches and settees. Several vases stood on small tables, filled with greenery instead of flowers. There was a subtle hint in the air of chamomile and orange. From freshening spells no doubt. He stood stiffly beside a couch, refusing to sit. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long. The Dark Lord strode in, face impassive. Scrimgeour allowed a cold smile to touch his lips, perhaps a bit more impressed than he'd been with the tasteful furnishings.

"Minister. What brings you here during such busy times?"

"Are you responsible for this?" Scrimgeour threw down a few newspapers like the gauntlet they were.

**Three Powers Unite to Defend Cornwallis**

**Two Aurors, Three Light Soldiers Dead – Dozens Injured**

**No Dark Casualties – Dark Follower Claims Their Strategies Were Ignored**

**Stubborn Prejudice or Blatant Incompetence?**

Scrimgeour stared at the man as the Dark Lord laid the papers gently back on the low table between them.

"Even if I were, is being responsible for the truth a bad thing? Have a seat, Minister. We have much to discuss."

"I find it highly suspicious that you are supporting discord between our people." Scrimgeour made no move toward the offered chair. "You are still focused on advancing your cause even while we face a common enemy."

"I am focused on winning this war," the Dark Lord countered almost gently. "I am not responsible for this article and have dealt accordingly with the man quoted. The more pressing point, I feel, is the fact that the strategies I devised to defeat these Muggles were ignored and thus you suffered needlessly. If anyone is inducing discord, it would be you with the continued suspicion and mistrust aimed at me and mine."

Scrimgeour scoffed. "Pretty words, Lord Voldemort, but forgive me if I chose to remember causes for that mistrust."

Voldemort hooded his ruby eyes. "That is your choice, as you say. I admit I am surprised. It is a choice Fudge would have made."

"Oh?" Scrimgeour stiffened at the insult.

"The choice of death over life."

He fingered his wand and growled, "Are you threatening me?"

"That is what I am trying to tell you." Voldemort shook his head. "No. The Muggles are. If we can't work together, we will all die. You either chose to remember the past or you chose to ensure a future. Death or life. Your choice."

"A necessary evil? Is that what you are?" Scrimgeour was shocked that he'd spoken the thought. He stilled as the red eyes opened and blazed with power.

"I believe this meeting is over. Caben will see you to the door."

Scrimgeour cursed himself silently as he called, "Wait."

The Dark Lord turned around to face him again, his expression cold.

"Forgive me. It was stress talking. I agree that we must make new choices. I'd like your input creating strategies that incorporate all three forces. Would you agree to a meeting at the Ministry?"

"Let me know the date and time," the Dark Lord answered simply and continued out of the room. A room that seemed much bigger now that his overwhelming presence was gone.

Scrimgeour ground his teeth as he was led to the door by the same House-elf. He'd not been in control of that conversation. The Dark Lord truly was a masterful persona. On the other hand, the feel of malevolence he'd been expecting in such close quarters with the most feared Dark Lord in the century had been missing. It had been a strange encounter all the way around and had left him much to think about.

**O**

Harry fell into the chair behind his desk, feeling despondent after the meeting. The battle had gone relatively well. They'd all fought together, granted the Dark had fared better due to better training and preparation, but they hadn't fallen on each other until the end. He'd hoped that meant it was a sign this could work. He no longer thought that.

The Death Eaters chafed at the restrictions and having to now 'share the glory' with the incompetent Ministry and hated Light. Thus the unauthorized attacks on the Ministry in the paper and the renewed attempts to slander the Light in business and politics. Thankfully, the Minister had only caught wind of the very public article so far. Harry honestly feared what would happen when it became known that Dark followers were sabotaging the healers tending the wounded so it looked like the Dark could provide better protection.

Harry had no idea what to do about the Dark's very real animosity. He'd tortured and threatened, but he couldn't kill or even incapacitate his followers. Every man was needed for the fight. And he wasn't willing to use family members as collateral or to threaten the unborn children most had on the way. Somehow the Death Eaters had sensed this inability to reassert control. They accepted the torture sessions as a tolerable price to pay for being allowed to continue to quietly work against the treaty and insinuate the Dark into higher political power.

Harry couldn't stop them. Not now that he'd lost the element of fear. He felt like everything was slipping through his fingers. A quiet desperation gnawed at his stomach until he thought he'd be sick. He could hardly sit still, but pacing only made him dizzy. So much depended on him, but everything was falling apart!

A knock broke through the increasing panic attack, and he scrambled for the Dark Lord mask he'd carefully crafted over the months.

"Come in."

Narcissa stepped in and quietly shut the door behind her. Her eyes didn't leave the floor as she said softly, "May I speak to you, my Lord?"

Harry activated the wards surrounding his office and gestured the woman further inside. "Of course. Have a seat."

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort paced restlessly in the Gryffindor common room. Only one more day before the rest of the student body returned to the school. He wasn't going to miss the peace and quiet, but he wasn't looking forward to dealing with all the brats either. He was growing increasingly anxious to be out there fighting. Last Monday's article in the Daily Prophet reporting the stats of the last battle had him laughing hard and long. _Finally_ they were seeing the glory of the Dark, and then he'd sobered. It was supposed to be him out there gaining recognition. But it was Potter in his stead while he wasted away in this prison well disguised as a school.

An owl swooped down into the common room from the dormitory stairs.

With a ferocious scowl, Voldemort tried to shoot the bloody bird out of the air. He'd been expecting something like this and had shut all the tower windows, but the blasted owl had obviously found a way in. It were times like these that made him miss the more easily defensible dungeons. The Howler dropped from the sharp talons as the bird squawked and fled the painful spells.

"Damn," he grumbled as the red envelope burst open and Draco's tedious voice filled the air.

"I don't care if you come begging on your _knees!_ I hate you, Potter! You're a filthy _Mudblood_ as far as I'm concerned, and if you come near me ever again, I will make you miserable! _No!_ I'm going to do that anyway! You'll be ruined, Potter. _Ruined!_ I'll be sure of that if it's the last thing I do!"

Voldemort tuned out the rest of the diatribe. He'd finally called it off and dumped the brat. He had bigger things to worry about than fucking little Malfoy. Like how to get out of this Potter situation and taking the lead in the new war, as was his true destiny.

He resumed his agitated pacing. Fortunately for his sanity, not ten minutes later the fire whooshed up.

"Harry, my boy. Can I see you up in my office?"

Voldemort scowled, it was his default expression lately, but he was desperate by this point for distraction. He strode over to the fire and threw the powder down. "Headmaster's Office."

Dumbledore was waiting for him. He looked gravely solemn. "I think it's time you helped me in this quest."

"Quest," Voldemort repeated, tempted to sneer. Was he talking about the war? Reuniting with the Muggles? What?

"I have found one of the Horcruxes, but I need your help to retrieve it."

Voldemort stilled. The bastard had found one of his soul pieces? "Of course, Headmaster. I want to help."

"You must swear to do what I say, no matter how unpleasant." Dumbledore regarded him through faded blue eyes. "Even if I request you to stand aside while I take risks."

_My pleasure,_ he thought sadistically even as his face portrayed concern. "I trust you, Headmaster. You know what's best."

"I must impress upon you how important it is to keep your promise, Harry." Dumbledore hadn't been so serious in a long time. There was no silly persona around him now. "Tom cannot be defeated until each Horcrux is dealt with. You understand?"

"I do," Voldemort answered stiffly. He understood, all right. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for. Finally, it was time to stop this charade. He'd protect his Horcrux, and then he'd escape this hell. He would not be coming back to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore held his gaze, as if judging how serious he was taking this. Voldemort stood relaxed, his mask perfect. The ancient wizard nodded and led him up to the roof.

"I thought you couldn't Apparate in Hogwarts?" Voldemort gazed at his enemy from the corner of his eye.

"There are benefits to being Headmaster," the old man answered with a smile.

Voldemort was impressed in spite of himself. His gut was clenched with nerves as the Headmaster wrapped his arm around his shoulders. This was it. He would protect his Horcrux, no matter the consequences, and he refused to remain impotent behind these walls. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore's rotting hand. Maybe he could even remove the Headmaster from the picture. The interfering old fool had lived way past his usefulness. Dark anticipation surged in his gut as they Apparated away.

**O**

Harry stood numb, hands clasped behind him as he stared out into the night. Narcissa had left some time ago. He wasn't sure how long. What she'd told him had been… horrific. Her only son had come home to drink poison. Scarred and broken, Draco Malfoy, the boy who was so full of himself, the pampered prince, his arch-enemy, had tried to kill himself. He would have succeeded if it weren't for Narcissa finding him and forcing a bezeor down his throat.

Narcissa had flung herself on Harry's mercy. Sobbing, hands still stained with the sickness of Draco expelling the deadly poison, bearing magical photos of the still healing evidence of his violent relationship with the Pretender, she had begged him desperately to grant Draco mercy.

Mercy

Harry felt like he'd lost sight of that emotion. _Mercy._ It rang in his head. Narcissa wanted mercy for Draco.

To whom could Harry beg for mercy?

Had he really thought Voldemort would be tamed by being in Harry's body? Cold snaked its way through his center. If no one had noticed what Voldemort was doing with Draco, what else had he done? Severus hadn't been ever forthcoming about the Pretender's movements in Hogwarts. Harry had let it go, trusting Severus would tell him anything he really needed to know.

That had been a grave mistake. He had never considered Severus not being able to tell him.

Harry's breathing became fast and light through his tight throat. He'd seen how stressed Severus was. Why hadn't he questioned it more? Shame burned in his gut. Perhaps he still held to the lingering belief of Severus' ability to handle any problem. Five years with the man as his indomitable Potion's teacher, in a position of authority over him, were hard to shake.

Things were falling apart rapidly now. Severus had been right from the very beginning. Give the Death Eaters and inch and they took a mile. Harry could be great at pretending to be the Dark Lord, but when it came down to it, he wasn't. That telling difference had finally came to light, even if it the Death Eaters didn't know it consciously yet. Everything Harry had endured, and for what? He couldn't keep the changes in place. Worse, he'd exposed his friends and innocent children to the Dark Lord's sadistic manipulations.

"What have I done?"

He literally felt dizzy and nauseous, knowing Voldemort had used Harry's face to work his evil. No one deserved what Voldemort had done to Draco. Narcissa's descriptions had been horrific. What had been inflicted on the sixteen-year-old's body and mind was the definition of cruelty. And it was Harry's fault. If he could take it all back… _God, _he wanted to take it all back. Draco, the self-centered, opportunistic brat Harry would have thought least likely to ever think of killing himself, had been driven to attempted suicide!

It was all Harry's fault. What was he doing here? What was he _thinking_, not warning anyone what kind of monster was in their midst?

He almost jumped out of his skin when an owl pecked at the window right in front of his face. With a surprisingly steady hand… Shouldn't it be shaking? … he opened it and let the bird in. It hooted, its head tilting almost upside down. Stiff, as if he'd forgotten how to move, he removed the letter from the offered leg.

Numbly, he stared at the parchment, slowly realizing it was the solution to all his problems. A grim smile stretched his lips as he turned and strode from the study. He walked away from the manor, from the Death Eaters, from what he'd become since he'd let the switch continue. It was time to end this.

**O**

Voldemort stood in front of the sea-side cliffs, eyes so empty they almost appeared alien.

_So we're after Slytherin's locket._

It was the Horcrux that meant the most to him. It was the item that his starving mother had sold during her pregnancy to buy food, right before she died giving birth to him. These cliffs were riddled with caves, and within one, he'd set the locket that now held a piece of his soul inside, a key to his immortality. He'd set serious protections around the Horcrux, but Dumbledore was admittedly powerful. Would he be strong enough, even in his weakened state, to gain the locket? Even should he succeed, Voldemort would not allow Dumbledore to gain possession of it.

Three Light spells later their clothes were preserved so their state would be unchanging for the next few hours, the ocean was tamed creating two dolphins that they rode to the mouth of the cave, and a globe of light was attached to the ceiling, banishing the clinging darkness. Voldemort watched, almost feeling like a passive observer, as Dumbledore dismantled the first barrier. One which required blood and a ten percent reduction in magic. The second barrier was defeated by being able to summon the boat and then successfully charm it to carry them across the inner lake. Average witches and wizards wouldn't have that kind of power, not after the price paid for getting across the first barrier. He was unsurprised Dumbledore had surpassed both. The true test would be the third protection.

"No matter how I might beg, you must feed me this potion," Dumbledore told him solemnly.

Voldemort almost laughed. "If you insist, Headmaster."

He enjoyed it greatly, force-feeding the bastard the dementia potion. The way the old man carried on – confused, weak, afraid – it was pure entertainment. Standing above his fallen arch-enemy, Voldemort felt more powerful than he had in months. It was glorious. By the time Dumbledore broke through all the protections, he'd be so weak he'd be an easy kill. Voldemort slapped the old man's hands away and forced the sea shell filled with potion to the man's pale, pleading lips.

"Just a little more," he cooed in a mockery of sweetness.

Finally the potion was drunk and the locket was revealed. As soon as his fingers closed around it, he knew it was a fake. Rage filled him. Where was it? _Where?_ Who dared betray him? RAB… Regulus? Voldemort snarled. The traitorous man was a decade dead. How would he find his Horcrux now?

"Is something wrong, Harry," Dumbledore wheezed weakly.

"All this was for nothing," he answered, barely keeping to his persona. "It's a fake."

"Not nothing," Dumbledore argued gently. "It tells us something important."

He sneered. "What's that?"

"That there are those close to the Dark Lord who hate what he has become. That we are not alone."

Voldemort drew his wand. It _burned_ having his mistakes thrown in his face by this man, but he had no time to make the wretched old man regret those words. The Inferi stationed in the lake as the last barrier attacked in mass. Dumbledore was in no condition to fight them. Voldemort was tempted to let him get eaten alive by the animated corpses, but he didn't have the fine control needed to save only himself. So he stood, legs braced, and cast one of the Light battle spells Dumbledore had taught him.

"_Pyrus cyclum!"_

A firestorm erupted around them, burning the fiends to ash. How he wished he had the power to make the fire slip just a little and kill Dumbledore as well.

Eventually, the storm burned out. There was nothing left alive except for him and Dumbledore. He looked for the boat. The old man was still sitting, eyes closed, obviously still suffering the lingering effects of the potion. Perhaps he could leave him here. Maybe he wouldn't be able to make it out and would die unremarked. That would be fitting revenge.

The boat was not where they'd left it. Scowling, trying to figure out how that was possible, he squinted until he finally saw it. The small thing, barely bigger than a canoe, was gliding silently back across the water. A shadowed figure stood in the center. Voldemort lifted his wand, ready to kill, but then he froze as he caught sight of simmering red eyes. His breath caught as the feel of desperately missed Dark magic swelled around him. Shock hit Voldemort's system. He'd been told by Nagini, but seeing Potter with his own eyes made everything painfully real.

The boy had returned his body to something glorious instead of disfigured. He'd been weak when Potter had been strong. Of course, he'd suffered through decades that Potter had not, but that didn't lessen his shame and fury. What was he doing here? Perhaps he'd sensed the breach of the Dark wards? Regardless, Voldemort knew he wouldn't get a better chance than this to put things right. He held the burning red gaze and leapt.

It was like hitting a brick wall, and he fell back on his butt beside his broken long-time enemy.

Potter had the gall to smirk. "I don't think so. That's not how this is going to go."

Voldemort jumped to his feet, face red with rage. "You will switch back, or I will destroy your pathetic life. Your annoying friends will die painfully the moment I reach them!"

"They may die painfully regardless if you become the Dark Lord again."

"Harry?" Dumbledore looked very confused.

Voldemort laughed. Oh, he was going to _enjoy_ this. "Wrong, old man! I haven't been your precious Boy-Who-Lived for months!" He knelt so their eyes were perfectly level. "How does it feel to know that you've been cuddling up to Tom Riddle all this time?"

The ancient wizard flinched, horror blanching his already pale face until he wavered and almost fainted.

Voldemort drank in every detail of that agonized expression. "That's right. You've been battling your Golden Boy, making darling Harry Potter your enemy, while Lord Voldemort learned your deepest secrets from your very lips!"

Dumbledore groaned painfully, his good hand clasping his robes above his heart. "No… no… tell me it isn't true…"

With another laugh, Voldemort turned to Potter. Dumbledore was no threat to him. The old man couldn't even stand or string a coherent sentence together. Taking in the menacing figure before him, Voldemort realized he needed to focus, be calm and in control. Sweet power rolled off the tall body, and Voldemort realized the Dark had shaped the way the boy saw things, the way he thought. Even without his soul-shard in control, he was facing a fellow Dark Lord. He stood and let a charming smile turn up his, deciding to play along.

"If I managed not to kill your pathetic friends after months of living with them, I think I can refrain when not having to endure their company," he drawled pleasantly.

"Regardless, I have terms," Potter responded, not swayed by his friendly appearance.

Potter wasn't his true enemy, not like Dumbledore. The boy had proven he wasn't wholly unsalvageable. He was able to survive in the Dark far longer than most other wizards of his kind. Not to mention he needed to be protected due to the soul-shard he carried. This was the perfect situation to show the boy they could work together.

"Very well. What are your terms?"

"I have three, and they will be sworn as an Unbreakable Vow." Potter watched him carefully. "First, uphold the treaty I signed in your name."

"We are still at war. The Muggle situation comes first," he agreed, practically salivating at the chance of finally getting to fight.

"It prohibits the mass-murdering of innocent Muggles. After the war, they are to be left alone. A complete separation of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds invoked."

Voldemort sneered, knowing the Light wouldn't hold to such a bargain for long.

Potter lifted an eyebrow. "The Light agreed. They have sworn they will no longer promote integration. However, if they break the treaty, you are no longer bound by it. My first term is that you vow that you will not be the first to break the treaty in any of its principles."

Voldemort honestly didn't believe the Light would remain true. Eventually the Light would break and he'd have free reign of the despicable Muggles, so it was an easy vow to make. He had to make it seem a concession, though. He narrowed his eyes and hesitated before relenting. "Fine. I will swear to that."

"My second term is immunity for Draco Malfoy. You will never have sex with him again, and you will not punish him in excess of other Death Eaters if he were to become one. Your games with him as Harry Potter end permanently."

Dumbledore gasped, and Voldemort scowled, but really he was tired of the boy. Draco was completely broken to his will and no longer held any appeal. The Malfoy boy was too needy and clingy. The way he'd become absolutely hysterical after he'd broken it off at the beginning of last week had proved that.

"It is highly irregular, but I will grant you the immunity you wish."

"Thank you."

Voldemort blinked, surprised. He decided to offer up some faint praise of his own. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain by sweetening Potter up. "You made me realized how far from my ideals I have come. I will grant you consideration for that reason. You will find I am not completely unreasonable."

Potter smiled. "I'm glad to hear you are returning to your original path. I've come to respect both Dark magic and your followers."

Again Voldemort was very pleased. "Your last term?"

"I want Severus released from your service."

"No." His servants were _his_. But Severus… the Betrayer… He was special. Voldemort would kill him, but only after torturing him for years. The little snake needed to suffer for his treachery. "Severus is mine."

Red eyes burned into him, his suddenly revealed rage almost tangible. "I want him. I've gained nothing for the suffering and work I've endured in your place. If we switch back, you will be in a position of power and advantage. My standing has only diminished in your care. I demand something of value in return, as compensation."

Voldemort bared his teeth. "And maintaining the treaty and granting Draco Malfoy immunity is not to your benefit?"

"They are also in your best interest. You lose nothing to grant these things." Potter glared hotly. "Me. I lose everything. You owe me. This is the price I claim."

Voldemort hissed furiously. He was trapped, had been for weeks. The only way to break free was to capitulate. Potter had no reason to give him back his body and his power. He was right in his assessment. It galled and infuriated him, but he had no choice. He wanted free of this Boy Wonder persona. He couldn't afford to have Potter walk away and not make the switch. Besides, he may release Severus from service, but Potter hadn't mentioned leaving Severus alive afterward. And what was death except the final release?

Voldemort fought to contain a smirk. "Severus will be released. He is yours."

"Professor Dumbledore, will you be our bonder?" Potter turned his eyes to the still shocked Headmaster.

The old man tried to stand, but he couldn't make it up past his knees. Voldemort watched and was pleased that Potter didn't move to help him. Dumbledore gave up and lifted his wand, remaining in a kneeling position. Voldemort let the smirk bloom this time. The bastard's torment went a long way to making him feel better. He moved to stand in front of Potter and took the pale hand offered to him.

"Do you agree to swear an Unbreakable Oath," Potter asked once Dumbledore cast the spell at their joined hands.

"I do," he answered, even as he regretted the necessity.

"Do you swear to uphold the Alliance treaty in all its principles and not be the first to break faith?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to grant Draco Malfoy immunity from your bed and excess punishment should he become a Death Eater?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to release Severus Snape from your service and leave him alive afterward?"

Voldemort stared coldly into the red-eyed gaze that watched him patiently. He may have just been prevented from straight out killing the Betrayer, but he could still make the man's life as miserable as possible whenever he had a chance. Potter had not requested immunity, after all. "I do," he said through gritted teeth.

"The spell is complete," Dumbledore reported in a subdued tone.

He expected Potter to gloat, to drag things out further, but suddenly he was no longer alone in his head. The Dark poured in. It _hurt_, but then he was torn free from skin and sinew. Pain became orgasmic pleasure.

Voldemort collapsed to his knees, stretching out in his returned form. He hadn't realized just how painful and cramped he'd become in Potter's body. He stood, lifting his arms and bathing in the returned Dark magic. It washed through him in steady, powerful waves, a force of glorious, naked power. It wasn't surprising he'd become addicted to it. He threw his head back and laughed.

**O**

Harry gasped, dazed. The press of Dark magic fell away, replaced by a low simmering of more familiar power. Tears burned his eyes. He was back! Oh god, he could breathe again. Voldemort had no idea how badly he'd wanted this. If he'd understood, he wouldn't have granted him so much.

"This is goodbye, Potter."

Harry sat up carefully. _His_ arms, _his_ legs, greeted him. On the verge of either maniacal laughter like that of the Dark Lord or hysterical tears, he forced his face calm. "Goodbye, Voldemort."

Red eyes glittered back at him. Harry could hardly wrap his mind around the fact he was no longer looking at his own reflection. "When you get tired of playing Boy Hero, come and see me. I'm sure we could work something out."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry answered with a tight smile.

Without another word, the Dark Lord Apparated away.

Harry let loose his laugh, but it transformed into tears just as he feared. It was wonderful to be himself again, to have glasses and be shorter than everyone else, but he wasn't the same. Not really. He'd been changed. The burden that pressed so heavily down on him had not gone.

Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him. "Harry, my boy, I am so sorry. I am an old man who saw what he wanted to see. Forgive me."

He hugged the Headmaster hard. "I was so surprised to receive your owl. Why come here? What is this place? How did you know?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I should have guessed sooner. The way you fight is very distinctive, my boy. As for why here, I revealed much to Tom. I needed to do some damage control. I will tell you everything later, but suffice it to say, I needed him to think you felt the removal of these wards and came to investigate."

"I felt nothing," Harry reassured him. He still couldn't believe he was himself again. He couldn't stop shaking.

"Good. Are you ready, dear boy, to go home?"

"Yes," he breathed, longing thick in his voice. "Yes, I'm ready."

Dumbledore pulled him into another embrace, and the familiar sensation of a portkey tugged at him hard.

**Chapter end**


	13. Casualties

**Casualties**

With a sick swirl, Harry landed on one of Hogwarts' towers. The magic of the school envelope him, and he gasped, trying to control his rapidly beating heart. He was home. _Home,_ where he thought he'd never be welcomed again. It was the most incredible feeling he'd ever experienced. He tipped his head back, reveling in it for a moment, the smell, the feel, before he turned his attention back to the Headmaster. Dumbledore smiled at him in understanding.

"What should I expect?"

"Your friendships have remained relatively untouched. There is recent tension between Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and yourself, but I am confident it can be fixed," Dumbledore reassured. "You've joined a social club of Professor Slughorn's. It is attended by those with great potential. You've become quite the favorite."

"And my love life? Narcissa informed me that Draco was…" He suddenly had no idea how to word the abusive relationship Narcissa had related to him.

Dumbledore frowned deeply. "I'm afraid I have been absent most of this year. I have no knowledge of any romantic entanglements Tom engaged in."

Harry took a deep bracing breath and stood. It would be something he had to figure out on his own, then. "Should I tell Ron and Hermione?" His green eyes filled with torment. "How do I explain? I've done horrible things." It was beginning to truly hit him. No longer being able to hide behind justifications and the position of Dark Lord, his actions and decisions were placed under a harsh, unforgiving light. God, he'd had people killed, he'd _tortured _people! How was he going to face Susan?

"You did what was necessary," Dumbledore said with certainty. He gripped the teen's shoulder hard. "Never doubt yourself. You've done an incredible job in an impossible situation."

Before he could respond, the door that led to the roof was flung open.

Severus burst out of the stairwell, his eyes deadly and dark, his mouth curled in a feral snarl. Dark magic lashed around him, and Dumbledore was tossed to the ground, away from Harry.

Harry jumped to his feet, hands out in supplication as he cried out, "Wait!"

Tell-tale green light burned at the man's wand tip. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Frozen in place, Harry did nothing as green light lanced straight at his chest.

And suddenly Dumbledore was there.

Harry caught the fragile body, watched as the light went out of tired blue eyes. He looked up sharply at Severus. Horror twisted the man's sharp features, grief pulling a chocked cry from his lips. Draco burst out of the doorway right behind Severus. He was thinner than Harry remembered him being, dark circles emphasizing his wild eyes.

"I hate you, Potter!"

"Wait," he screamed again. "It wasn't _me!"_

Draco snarled, _"Avada…"_

"No!" Severus grabbed Draco, yanking his arm down.

The teenager began to sob, harsh grating sounds, as he pressed his face into his godfather's robes.

Harry held Severus' gaze and trembled at the anguish he read so easily in the unusually expressive dark eyes. Severus knew. He knew he wasn't looking at Voldemort as he had expected. That somehow they'd switched back. That he'd almost killed _Harry_.

Harry's mind was a swirl of chaos. He was hardly aware of the weak words that fell from his numb lips. "It's not your fault."

Severus woodenly pushed his charge to the door. "We must go."

"_It wasn't your fault,"_ Harry screamed, reaching for him. Severus disappeared into the dark stairwell without looking back. "Wait!"

But he didn't. Harry came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Chasing after Severus would only bring them more attention. Heart racing, he tried to _think_.

Dumbledore – grief almost dropped him to his knees.

It'd been a horrible accident. The Headmaster wouldn't want Severus to suffer over this mistake. The Potion Master had been forced into action by the Unbreakable Vow he swore to Narcissa. He'd literally been driven to this act, or else he could have lost his life. Severus had been under extreme pressure all year. Dumbledore understood that, and he chose to step between them, to protect both Severus and Harry from the fatal mistake.

Those of the Dark couldn't understand at gut level how those of the Light felt about self-sacrifice. Severus wouldn't understand that Dumbledore had only felt joy in that moment. Joy that he'd given his already fading life to protect them both. Harry had to fix this. He had switched back to fix everything, and he'd only made it worse! With a scream of frustration, he scrambled back up to the roof.

The Headmaster lay where he'd fallen. Dead. Reduced to an old man, no life, no spark, no magic. Harry shuddered and gathered his will, tried to calm his thoughts, but the magic wouldn't come. It burned just out of reach. Sweat trickled into his eyes.

With a gasp, he realized he was trying to use Light magic the way he'd learned to shape the Dark. He didn't need absolute control; he needed absolute emotion! Everything he'd felt these past months roared over him, finally released. His grief, horror, terror, fear, and love blazed through him, making his skin literally glow.

_Dumbledore loved Severus. He wouldn't want him condemned for this sacrifice that he'd chosen of his own free will. Severus has suffered so much already. We all have. Let the cycle end. Please. I need to fix this._

Magic struck Dumbledore, and white fire burned around the Headmaster's body. He saw the green residue of the Killing Curse burn away without actually damaging the flesh underneath. Harry wavered, completely drained.

Footsteps came rushing up the stairs behind him, and McGonagall crouched next to him. "Potter? What happened?"

"We had a meeting. He was teaching me," Harry answered, his numb brain scrambling for an explanation. "He just fell."

"Albus… oh no…"

Harry shook his head. So much suffering. So much grief. So much darkness. It had its place, he knew, but there needed to be a balance. Where was the light? Tears slid down his face as he fell limply onto his side.

**xXxXxXx**

"How is he?" Narcissa asked as she stepped from the fireplace at Spinner's End.

"Distressed," Severus answered blankly. "He sleeps, but I felt it better for him not to be left alone."

"You've been summoned," she observed. Her eyes grew concerned as she continued to take in her friend's unnatural stillness. "Are you well?"

"I must go."

"Severus, I told our Lord about the Unbreakable Vow and the relationship Potter entangled Draco in. He will understand what drove you to flee your post."

For a split second, rage sliced through him. If she'd told Harry months ago when he _asked_, maybe it wouldn't have come to this! Then the emotion was gone and he was empty again. He moved stiffly to the hearth and flooed to Riddle Manor.

Empty. Blank.

He moved through the manor like a ghost. The study door stood before him. His most peaceful adult memories were made beyond this door. He'd finally found true friendship, the first ever in his long bitter life. Now those memories were about to be tainted by the insidious evil that was the true Dark Lord.

Severus pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It didn't matter. He didn't expect to live past this encounter, anyway. It was that promise that kept him moving.

"Severus."

The Dark Lord smiled at him. How do the same lips, the same face, look so different when doing something as simple as smile? The door shut behind him. He said nothing.

"Why are you not at the school?"

A gentle touch brushed across his mind. It didn't matter. He didn't exist outside Occlumency. "Dumbledore is dead."

The smile disappeared. "What happened?"

_I was trying to kill you,_ Severus thought bitterly, _and he jumped in the way._

As the minutes passed, Severus kept his silence. The red eyes became more heated as the Dark Lord realized Severus knew he was no longer Harry. The gentle touch became clawed fingers, but there was nothing to grasp. Severus felt dead.

"You made a fatal mistake. You thought I'd never return to my former glory. You were wrong, my serpent." Voldemort's fury was so great his voice fell deadly flat, unable to contain it. "You've become a pathetic cockroach, _Severus_. And do you know what happens to cockroaches?"

Severus bowed his head in utter gratitude. He'd finally be released from this tormented life.

Agony speared through him. He fell screaming, when many painful things in the long years had not been able to make him do so. He shook and spasmed as his body was torn to bloody pieces. The sheer torment too terrible for words.

_Stop! No more! Let it all just finally stop!_

Then, like a light being snuffed, it was all gone. The agony, his grief, everything.

And he died.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry woke slowly and immediately recognized the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. For a split second, he wondered what he was doing here. There was a vague understanding at the forefront of his mind that he'd scare the students if they saw him now.

"Harry?"

Startled by the use of his real name, he looked to see Ron sitting beside his bed. Harry surged upward as memory returned in a flash. Ron cried out, frightened, but that didn't stop him. Harry flung his arms around his friend, holding on and refusing to let go.

"Harry!"

It took longer than it once would have, but the redhead's arms eventually wrapped around him in turn. Harry didn't know if he should be pleased that his friend had sensed he wasn't himself all these months or sad because their relationship had obviously degraded.

"I missed you so much," Harry whispered, throat burning with trapped tears.

"What? Harry, are you okay?"

"I feel like I've gone away for a long time and am only now waking up." He pulled back enough to look into shocked blue eyes. He tried to read Ron's thoughts to see why he was so uneasy, but the attempt sent a spike of pain through his skull. He ducked his head and would have fallen if Ron hadn't tightened his hold. "I'm so sorry for what I've put you through these past months," he said quickly. He didn't want Ron to ask what'd happened. He didn't want to admit he'd just tried to break into his friend's mind. "I miss you. I miss how things used to be. Please, forgive me. I just want things to go back to normal."

"Sure. Whatever you want. Just stop hugging me."

Harry laughed and pulled away. He felt so excited to be back he thought he'd burst. "Thanks, Ron. You're the absolute best!" Unfortunately, his happiness was short-lived when he asked about Hermione.

"What? You care about her now," Ron asked stiffly.

Harry's chest tightened. "What happened? Is she okay? Ron, please, tell me!"

The redhead's brow scrunched in obvious confusion. "You know what's wrong with her. She's obsessed with school work again. She hardly talks to anyone, hardly sleeps." He shrugged awkwardly. "You know how she can get."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Let's go. I want to talk to her."

After dodging Pomfrey, they went back to the Gryffindor Tower. Harry became aware things were as bad as he'd feared. He was looking around the crowded common room for Hermione when his eyes caught on his friends sitting in front of the fireplace, the mood between them subdued.

"I think it's suspicious that he died now, right? Just when the Light and Dark have to deal with each other," he heard Ginny say.

"Pomfrey said she's certain he died of natural causes," Seamus muttered darkly.

Neville added, "He was old, but I never thought he'd just die like that."

"Maybe he found something out that would break the Alliance, and the Dark Lord had him killed to keep it quiet," Dean offered.

"No one asked you, Thomas," Cormac snarled.

Dean toppled off the arm of the couch as the seventh year hexed him. He whimpered as painful blisters appeared around his lips and in his mouth.

Harry strode over, noticing that no one protested the unprovoked attack. Not even Hermione, who he now saw sitting in a corner with her head ducked, as if she were afraid to draw attention to herself. Well, he had no problems speaking out for her. "What's your problem," he demanded, casting the counter-hex on Dean.

Cormac blinked as if surprised by Harry's defense. Then he scowled. "He's just a Muggleborn."

Harry was shocked by this statement but had a sudden flash of intuition. He stalked forward so he was right in the other teen's face. "So what? Dean is _magical_, if you haven't noticed."

Everyone froze, shocked. Why were they so surprised? Had the Pretender attacked Muggleborns, too? Was that why Hermione was more distant with him?

"But Harry…"

"They killed my brother and his family!"

"… burned my hometown to the ground!"

"It's because of Muggleborns that…"

"That is the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard," Harry yelled. He couldn't believe this was coming from his Housemates. "It's Muggleborns like him who are most in danger. It's because _wizards_ didn't protect them that we're now fighting this war. We need to keep Dean and the others safe, and not allow them to be captured and experimented on. Muggle soldiers are the enemy, not other witches and wizards. We're all in danger and we have to fight together, or we won't survive!"

Harry looked around at all the faces staring at him. Couldn't they see how disastrous it would be to alienate Muggleborns? What would happen if they started to willingly help the enemy? They could tell the Muggles where to find more of their communities and shopping centers. But none of them looked like they understood. A wave of depression washed over him. So much had changed. And not for the better.

"We've all been overwhelmed. So many things have happened lately. We need to step back and think about this. That goes for me, too. Dumbledore's dead. We can't afford to do nothing anymore. We have to be smart, and we can't turn against each other. If we do, then we're lost."

"But if we didn't let Muggleborns into the Wizarding world in the first place…" Cormac insisted.

"Then this would have happened sooner," Harry interrupted with a disgusted shake of his head. "Don't you understand? The reason the Muggles know about us, the reason they have weapons that weaken magic, is because Muggleborns who weren't found and protected by schools were captured by this fanatical group. They were studied like animals."

"How do you know this," Ron demanded. At least he wasn't throwing punches or yelling. Hermione was looking at him in horror as the implications set in.

Harry realized that if things were this bad in Gryffindor, then the other Houses would also be attacking Muggleborns and blaming them. He needed to address the whole school. Not just his House. "I'll explain at dinner. Excuse me. I have to talk to Headmistress McGonagall."

**xXxXxXx**

Minerva observed the intense young man in front of her. She listened to his low, passionate arguments about the disasters of turning against Muggleborns. His plan had merit, but she wasn't sure she could trust him. He'd been distant and strange this year. In fact, he looked more like himself right now than he had in months.

"Please. I can't explain all the reasons I know this has to be done, but it does. If we want to beat this threat, this is the only way. Without uniting, we will be destroyed sooner or later. Surely you can see that."

"But why you, Mr. Potter," she asked softly, eyes watchful. "I can't help but notice this gives you a lot of political attention. And I can't help noticing that you once would have hated any plan that would so bring you to the front in such a way."

"It's not what I ever asked for," Harry answered stiffly. He'd suffered worse things than public attention. That little hang-up of his was rather dead by this point. "I'd suggest someone else, but who?"

Minerva sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was true. There was no one else who could fill such a role and have a good chance of reaching _everybody_. "Very well."

"Thank you."

She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

**xXxXxXx**

The Great Hall was full of dull chatter. Usually laughter and excited conversations created a dim roar, but the students were subdued, voices mumbled. Muggleborns sat at the ends of tables, isolated from the rest of their House. Harry walked up the middle, passing his usual seat at Gryffindor, grimly set on his course. Silence spread in his wake.

He stepped up on the raised dais in front of the High Table where the teachers sat. They muttered curiously, but didn't move to stop him. This further got the attention of the students. Good. He looked out over the children six months ago he would have sat among and now felt so distant from. He'd seen the war firsthand. He'd seen the dead and dying, messy and slow and horrible. He'd feared for his life, suffered injuries, killed, and tortured. It was in that moment that he knew he could never go back to being the child Harry Potter. That him was gone forever. Coming back to Hogwarts didn't change anything. They were still at war, and he was still a soldier, so he masterfully hid the pang in his chest.

He straightened his back, holding himself with confidence, and let his newly returned Light magic flood his system. "I thought I could bury my head in the sand and ignore the world. If I acted like a teenager hard enough, then I wouldn't have to worry about anything except for school. The war wouldn't touch me." His eyes swept the Hall again. "I was wrong."

Utter silence. Every single eye was on him, even the teachers were staring holes into his back. His speech had been hastily constructed, and he had to be careful. He had no idea how Voldemort had acted or what he'd done in Harry's place. He had to hedge around any comments about the past few months. Hopefully everyone would focus on the more pertinent details.

"We don't have the luxury of being children. It sucks, but we can't afford to make childish mistakes any longer. We are at war. Not against Light or the Dark. Not against ideals or philosophies. Now we fight for the survival of _magic_. All magic. I've come to realize that nothing is more important to me than that. Both Light and Dark! If I can say that, when I've lost my parents, my childhood, my godfather to Voldemort, then I think you should at least be able to think about it. Really think."

Harry paced to the right, left, then made himself stand front and center once more.

"What do we gain by attacking Muggleborns? They are _magical_, just like us. They are our friends, and they have just as much to lose if magic is taken from the world. No more unicorns and dragons. No more wands and spells. No more _magic_. They can help us fight for what we all love. Pushing Muggleborns away will only lead to them being captured and used against us. The Muggles took the magical children that were unprotected by schools and experimented on them, treated them like prisoners. That's how they developed null bombs and null grenades that weaken magic. They've been working on this for _years_. We can't let them get their hands on any more of us. We must stand as one!"

Attention shifted to the students exiled to the end of the tables. Harry was relieved that the stares were less hostile.

"Many of you are probably wondering why I'm up here telling you all this and not one of the teachers. Well, it's partly due to the fact that Dumbledore has been teaching me, even if I wasn't good at listening at the time. And it's partly due to a prophecy. Many wizards are still fighting each other, Light verses Dark, and I'm part of the reason why they won't give up, despite the very real extinction we all face."

Harry took a deep breath and decided it was all or nothing. They needed a shock to get over this tantrum of theirs. So he'd give them one.

"Originally the prophecy was interpreted to mean that I must fight and kill the Dark Lord or die. But prophecy is tricky. I've been told the whole version, and I think that it instead points to me and the Dark Lord needing to work together. Don't take my word for it, though. Decide for yourself. It's about time this secret got told."

McGonagall stood up, trying to stop him, but Harry struck her mute in a wandless burst. The students gaped, shocked, but many were leaning forward, anxious to hear.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" Harry's voice swelled with power. The atmosphere became heavy as the magic of Prophecy was invoked. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power that the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…"

Everyone stared thunderstruck. Even the teachers. McGonagall fell back heavily in her seat, limp. Harry smiled darkly. He certainly had their full attention now.

"The last bit is obviously strange. _Neither can live while the other survives_. We are both alive, so it must mean something else. I don't think it means that we are destined to fight until one of us dies, like was first assumed. I think it means something different. It's a warning that I _shouldn't_ defeat the Dark Lord. I think it's saying that neither can live if _only one_ survives."

Harry narrowed his eyes, his hands fisting. He didn't enjoy doing this. He was angry with Voldemort for what he'd done. He didn't trust that monster as far as he could throw him. Regardless, Harry honestly believed they'd all perish if they didn't work together. That's why he'd done all he had. He still hated Voldemort, but if he showed any of this, then the students would pick up on it. He had to support the Evil Bastard. For now.

"I am against the Dark only if it hurts the Wizarding world. Lately the Death Eaters have stopped their attacks. Instead, they are fighting against the Muggles even at the cost of their lives. Dumbledore signed a treaty, as did Voldemort. It stated that all past deeds will be forgotten as long as the laws are upheld henceforth. It's hard, but I'm willing to give them a second chance. I'm not asking them to become Light. I'm just expecting them to act with honor. Both the Light and the Dark have forgotten what magical honor means. It's time we learned again.

"You may not believe me, but I've _seen_ it. If we don't come together, magic will cease to exist for humans. Magic will be lost. Maybe not tomorrow, but do you want your children, or your children's children, to live in a world without magic? That's what's coming. You have to decide what you're willing to do to stop that."

Harry tried to meet as many eyes as possible. "I'm going to fight for _magic_, not the Light. I'm going to work with the Dark, and I'm going to welcome every single wand that will fight at my back, Muggleborns included, because they are _needed_. It will take every single one of us to win this war. That's how close it will be. So… Think about it. Please."

He stepped carefully off the dais and strode out of the Hall, shoulder's squared. He'd never be able to eat in peace after that. He'd go to the kitchens instead. The room exploded into sound behind him, and he smiled. At least they were talking now. Thankfully the Great Hall doors closed behind him before his legs wavered and he had to lean heavily against the wall.

He stood there, back pressed into ancient stone, head tilted back, and stared up at the ceiling for many minutes. He'd thought he was escaping, returning home. Instead, he'd just entered a different fight. He had so much to do, and no time for rest.

He had to figure out what the Pretender had done in his name. He had to figure out what was wrong with Hermione and how to fix it. He had to fix his friendships. He had to learn how to fight with Light magic. His control was much better than before the switch, but his knowledge hadn't changed. He no longer had advanced spells leaping to mind the second he needed them. Then there were smaller things, like figuring out how to pretend he'd been at school all this time when he didn't know the material they were covering in class, and finding time to mourn Dumbledore in private and worry over Severus. God, he hoped the man was okay.

Harry lightly hit his head against the wall a few times before pushing off and carefully making his way down the corridor. He needed food. Then he'd deal with everything else.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus opened his eyes. For a long moment, he stared at the gray wood ceiling, not knowing where he was, _who_ he was. He felt disconnected from his body, a waking dream. A door opening and shutting had him turning his head, unconcerned. Vaguely he had the feeling he'd be deeply uncomfortable with all this – whatever _all this_ was –in a more normal state.

It took a few moments to recognize the blond boy. He was setting what Severus knew was food, but couldn't quite remember the name of, on a table across the room. A room that was mostly empty, not in very good shape, and quite dusty.

"You cut your hair." He felt vague surprise at this shocking fact. Couldn't grasp anything stronger than that, even though he knew his friend would _never_ cut his hair.

The blond's head snapped around. Come to think of it, he also looked thinner, and really, when had Severus ever seen him look so worn down? He had actual _bags_ under his eyes and frown lines around his too tight mouth. Severus was waking up fast as adrenaline dumped into his veins. Something was dreadfully wrong here.

"You're finally awake," the teen murmured before going back to his task.

Severus struggled to sit up. His arms were weak and he had to wiggle to get his back up and pressed against the wall for support. "What's happened, Lucius? Where are we?"

The blond froze. He looked up from the sandwich he was making with the strangest expression. "You don't know me?"

Severus scowled and crossed his arms defensively. He was no fool. Obviously he didn't understand the situation, and that made him feel distinctly ill at ease. "I take it you're not Lucius. Are you a cousin then?" There was no mistaking the Malfoy features. Anyone would have taken the teen for Lucius at first glance, but now that he was more coherent, Severus could see his jaw was thinner and his mouth a bit softer looking.

"Not a cousin, no." The blond gave a bitter smile exactly like Lucius. Severus frowned suspiciously. Maybe this was a prank? "I'm his son, Draco."

Severus sneered, fury beginning to slowly spark to life. He leveraged himself off the bed, leaning heavily against the wall. "You can drop the act, whoever you are. Really. You do a shitty impression of Lucius. This is a new low even for the Marauders."

The teen gave a low chuckle. "I've not a clue what you're talking about, but it's you who's out of place, not me."

"What are you talking about, and where's my wand?" Severus's mind was racing, going through a mental catalogue of potions whose side-effects matched the symptoms he was experiencing: muscle weakness, mental disorientation, emotional suppression…

"What year do you think it is?"

Severus figured he might as well play along with his – captor? Fellow prisoner? "1979."

"Wrong. It's 1996."

Severus glared, watching as the blond happily ate his ham sandwich. He tried to figure out what this Draco character would gain from such an easily discredited lie, but he came up with nothing more plausible than this was an addled Malfoy who'd been hidden away from public society. But that still left the big question of what he was doing here with this Malfoy embarrassment.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

This was actually a good question. He remembered feeling tense and excited, dressed in his best robes, hair tied back with a black ribbon embroidered with the Prince family motto, and still feeling like a street urchin next to Lucius who looked even more immaculate than usual. However, even Lucius looked less than impressive next to his regal father, Abraxas Malfoy, so that was some consolation.

They'd been at Malfoy Manor, and Abraxas had thrown down floo powder. The huge fireplace – easily big enough to hold all three of them –filled with green fire. Abraxas had called out their destination, his voice deep and resonating, but a secrecy spell made the words sound muffled in Severus' ears. Then they were whirling.

When they stopped, Severus had known everything was going to change. He'd no longer be bullied or underestimated ever again. When they stopped spinning, he'd stand before the great Dark Lord and be marked, made superior to wizards like Black and Potter. When they stopped, no one would dare look down on him. He'd never be helpless or vulnerable again. Instead, he'd be a great Dark warrior.

But they hadn't stopped. Or _he_ hadn't. He'd whirled through the floo until everything went black and he woke up here.

Pure rage shattered the last effects of whatever had altered his senses. He panted and trembled with the sheer force of his hatred and fury. Magic poured from his very core and spiraled out around him – faster and faster – like an invisible tornado and about as controlled, which meant not at all.

Lucius had _betrayed_ him. He'd said the Dark Lord was eager to have Severus serve the cause. That Severus' talents were finally being recognized. All _lies_. Severus should have known. No one wanted a pathetic wretch like him. He'd been played, used, _again!_

"Stop! Stop it! Damn it, Snape! Stop before you kill us both!"

But Severus had no intention of stopping. This was the last abuse that had finally shattered his endurance. He was ready for his wretched life to end. He was sick of living in this filthy world. And he was going to take this _Malfoy_ with him. He wasn't Lucius, unfortunately, but the blond aristocrat would surly regret his cousin's death and know he'd made a mistake in wronging Severus.

The whole house shook and rattled. Malfoy huddled on his knees, arms over his head uselessly. Severus stood there, eyes glaring black rage and willed his magic to snap, to fall over that edge of no return. He wanted to destroy everything he could, including himself… Maybe especially himself…

A woman stepped out of the fireplace. She staggered to her knees, a high-pitched shriek of fright cutting across the low, bone-rattling roar that filled the small dwelling. She lifted her head toward Severus.

At first, he didn't recognize her. Then he gasped, shocked out of his self-destructive tailspin. His magic dried up, reversed like a violent tide, and returned deep within. "Cissa?" But it couldn't be. This woman was _old_, at least forty.

"Severus! What is going on here?" She even sounded like Cissa.

"He's gone insane, obviously," the blond teen grumbled as he got to his feet.

"Severus!"

Severus jumped at the sharp tone and was so shocked he let a Muggle phrase slip past his lips. "My god, what's happening?"

"He's lost his memory," the Malfoy supplied.

"He has amnesia?" Narcissa's hand fluttered at her throat the way it always did when she was truly distressed.

Despite the bizarre circumstances – Perhaps he was still dreaming? Maybe under a hallucinogenic potion? – he scowled. "_He_ is standing right here." Then he promptly contradicted the statement. His rubbery legs couldn't hold him up any longer and gave out. Fortunately for his pride, he landed on the edge of the cot instead of ass first on the floor.

The two ignored him. Malfoy saying, "He thinks it's 1979."

" '79?" Narcissa stared at Severus like he was a fascinating potion ingredient. "That was the year…"

"What?" The teen came over to stand beside the woman, adding his stare to hers.

Severus glared up at them. Panic fluttered in his gut. For the first time, he entertained the notion that he was the one messed up in this group, not them.

"The year he and Lucius were marked by our Lord." Narcissa covered her bare arm where the mark would have been. Two sets of gray eyes looked at Severus' forearm. It was also unmarked.

"I thought the mark was permanent," Malfoy said softly.

"It is. It cannot be removed." She began to smile darkly. It was a look Severus knew well and made him hunch his shoulders. That look _always_ meant trouble. "But perhaps it wasn't removed. Perhaps it has been prevented."

"Are you saying," Severus began in a stiff, overly enunciated tone, "I was marked by the Dark Lord, and He took it back?"

Malfoy whistled a long descending note, indicating his astonishment. "Seventeen years a Death Eater; seventeen years erased."

Severus paled as the implications of such a circumstance unfolded in his mind. "I don't understand. Did I fail him? Why didn't he just kill me? Why do this?"

"If you ask me, the Dark Lord should be pleased with you," the blond said flippantly, obviously tiring of the discussion. "You killed one of his worst enemies. But who knows what that madman is thinking."

"Draco!" Narcissa glared at the teen with such icy rage that Severus winced away. Amazingly, the other teen seemed unaffected. "You will speak with respect, or I will make sure you are unable to ever speak again."

Malfoy shrugged and turned his back on both of them, heading into the kitchen area.

Narcissa turned to Severus. "I cannot guess the Dark Lord's motives," she said more gently. "However, I can guess why he would not kill you, even should you displease him. These last few months have seen you grow closer."

Her tone and expression, though subtle, told him quite clearly that _close_ meant more than just a servant or even an advisor. Severus' head spun at the idea he'd been the Dark Lord's _lover_. It pleased and frightened him all at once. "What did I do to instigate such a rejection," he asked a bit faintly. He could not comprehend this world he'd woken to. He had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

"You killed Albus Dumbledore and fled your post as spy and DADA professor."

He was right. It was getting worse. Severus had no idea what to do with such preposterous information. Dazed, he answered in a dull voice, "Perhaps you should start from the beginning."

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort strode through his manor, silent and contemplative.

Nagini slithered along in his wake, pleased that her true Master had returned. She'd been lonely watching from the walls these last few weeks. It had been painful for her to be so close to the not-Master and not be able to go to him, when the magic was so familiar and comforting. But she had learned much to tell her true Master, so she felt very proud of herself.

The news Nagini had brought him had been priceless, especially after he'd realized he couldn't do Legilimency. Trying to enter Severus' mind was like casting Scourgify on his brain. Apparently the possession had damaged something that would take time to heal. Time that Voldemort couldn't afford to wait out, really. Of course, there was another way to get the information he needed. But before he did that, he explored.

The changes in the manor were impressive. Once his ancestral house had become headquarters, the aristocracy had slowly filled the halls with beautiful furniture and decorations. It was simple, not extravagantly done, and very elegant. Voldemort sensed the touch of the wives. It was pleasant, but at the same time, Voldemort resented accepting anything from his servants. It placed him at a disadvantage.

In the first war, he'd looted the Light families to gain beautiful things and artifacts. There was some good news, however. In several of the rooms, dark artifacts sat on display under heavy protections that had the feel of Voldemort's own magic. How Potter had sweet-talked his followers into handing over such precious heirlooms was a mystery, but it pleased Voldemort greatly.

The strategy room was equally impressive. Voldemort looked over the work and plans that had been created in his absence and had to agree, except for a few minor things, they were good ones. He knew Potter hadn't come up with all this by himself and felt restless frustration. How much further had Potter sunk him? He hadn't seen in his visions just how much Potter was struggling with daily living as the Dark Lord. Had he known he wasn't quite returning to the position of power Potter portrayed it as, he'd have made fewer concessions to the boy.

That had a smirk sliding across his returned face. He had to admit the boy was thinking like a Slytherin there. He could respect that. And inarguably Potter had returned him to physical advantage. The political mistakes and missteps Potter had taken Voldemort could remedy in time. All in all, he wasn't too displeased. He was back in his body, he was the Dark Lord again, and he'd been able to torture Severus a bit before fulfilling his vow to release him from his service, which in itself would be mental torture.

Voldemort chuckled. Some people would eventually go mad, ripped from the world they knew and thrust into future they couldn't understand, but Voldemort knew he wouldn't be that lucky. Severus was a stubborn bastard. He'd survive and learn to adapt. But maybe that would be better. It left him sane to be tortured more later.

A simple spell held his hair in place as he stepped outside into the windy January night. It was bitterly cold, but that didn't matter to Voldemort. Nagini, however, decided to remain inside as he went to explore the graveyard. The training field was a mess of paint and angry magical residue. This, he knew, had been Potter's idea. It was a good one, he had to admit. He lifted one of the guns and examined it. It was amazing such a thing could be used to kill _wizards_, beings so much more powerful than Muggles, no matter how ingenuitive they were. He lifted the complicated but also delicate instrument and aimed for a large headstone. He squeezed the trigger.

_Pah-pah-pah_… The feel of the recoil in his hand, the sound of the balls flying in rapid succession, it was so foreign and strange. He didn't hit the headstone. He shifted the gun, now using both hands until he finally managed to hit the target. Paint exploded in circular splatters. Voldemort lifted an eyebrow at the force those balls had struck the stone. Had that been flesh, it would have easily bruised. It didn't take much to imagine what damage a metal object would have done at such speed.

He set the gun back among the others and picked up a metal cone-like object. It was smooth like an egg with no grooves or seams, but was remarkably heavy for its size, which was about as large as a grenade, maybe a little bigger. There was a switch at the bottom. He turned it, winding it like a toy. There was no sound, no visual change, but Voldemort felt it instantly. It was like a heavy blanket had descended and trapped him in unrelenting folds. He lifted his hand, red eyes narrowed, and cast a Dark spell at a battered tree across the way. The spell only made it halfway before it fizzled. Disturbed, fury growing at the audacity of the filthy Muggles, he flicked the switch back into the off position and turned back to the manor. He had a letter to write and a treaty to examine very carefully.

**xXxXxXx**

It was nearing dawn. Harry sat on the floor in the common room, text books open around him in a large semi-circle. Essays and tests, all with big O's on the top, lay next to each book. His housemates had thought him barmy when they'd come back from dinner to see him going through his old work. Some had tried to pull him into conversation, many had asked questions, and Harry had told them all to think for themselves while he continued studying. Ron had sat with him for a while, but he had given up around one in the morning. As much as Harry had missed Hogwarts and his friends, he was glad to be alone for a couple hours.

He was dismayed at how much material had been covered in his absence, dismayed at how perfectly Voldemort had scored. There was no way he could pretend to know all this! It was way beyond him. More than ever before, he felt a powerful pang. He missed Severus. The man would have helped him. He also felt frustration that his Legilimency was still out of whack. It was strange. He'd spent most of his life without the ability – in fact, he had once disapproved of it – but now he couldn't imagine living without it.

A hoot drew his head up from madly complicated Transfiguration. A familiar black owl swooped down at him and he frowned, even as he lifted his arm. "Hey, boy. How'd you get in here?"

He received no answer of course, just a leg shoved imperiously in his direction.

Harry carefully pulled the scroll free of its binding. The owl flew over to the back of a chair and preened its feathers in front of the fire, obviously cold from the journey. Harry scrounged up some owl treats and fed them to the beautiful bird before opening the missive. It was short and to the point. Strangely, it had him smiling at first, but his amusement was short-lived. Very short-lived.

_Potter,_

_There may be more Slytherin in you than I accounted for. You've made quite the mess over here, but for an untrained boy, I grant that you did pretty well. You had a high standard to meet, after all. In light of this, I've decided to give you a little lesson for free. You really should be careful of your wording, Potter. I've released Severus from being a Death Eater, but I've not released him from my person. He fits in quite well in my dungeon, don't you think? However, considering I have my hands full cleaning up after your fumbling, I am willing to make a deal. I want all your memories of being the Dark Lord. In return, I will release Severus into freedom. Do not dally, Potter. I don't think your friend would appreciate it._

_Lord Voldemort_

Harry was on his feet in an instant, his breath coming in tight little gasps. He knew firsthand what the Dark was capable of when it came to torture and destruction. The thought of Severus in the hands of that sadistic monster had goosebumps rising along his arms in horror. He hurried to the owl and held out his arm. The bird squawked as he practically jogged across the room and into the castle proper. He made a bee-line for the Headmaster's office, desperately glad it was so early and no one would be awake yet.

The gargoyle stood impassive as he came to a stop, out of breath. The owl hooted again in displeasure and nipped at Harry's ear. The sting hardly registered.

"I need to get something from the office. I won't take anything else, I swear. It's important. Please."

He had no idea what he was doing, pleading with a statue, but amazingly it worked. The statue slid aside and the spiral staircase began to rotate upward. Harry practically flew up the stairs. The poor owl had enough and flew away to the back of the Headmaster's chair as soon as they entered the room. Its golden eyes regarded Harry with severe displeasure.

"Sorry," he mumbled, distracted, as he went to the glass cupboard in the corner. It opened at his touch, unlocked. And there was the Pensieve he'd come for.

The water was shimmering and bright, indicating memories were already inside. Harry looked up at the small vials that lined the top of the cupboard, but there was no telling which memories were in the basin. He'd have to look in order to be able to sort them out right. It felt wrong to look into something so personal, especially as Dumbledore was gone and couldn't be asked for permission, but what choice did he have? He needed the Pensieve to send Voldemort the memories he demanded.

Why did Voldemort need them anyway? Couldn't he just Legilimize his followers? And how was he going to make sure Voldemort kept his end of the bargain once he gave him what he wanted? Harry bit his lip, he'd think of that later. First, he had to clear the Pensieve. He took a deep breath and put his face into the basin.

It was supposed to transport his mind inside whichever memory was in the Pensieve. He'd watch it as if he were standing there when the memory took place, a passive observer. At least, that's how it had been when he'd gone into Severus' Pensieve last year. But that wasn't what happened.

Harry screamed, body stiffening in agony as the memories poured forcibly into _him_. They poured in through his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. They seared and burned their way into his brain, into his mind. Flashes of color, of sensation, a jumble of voices... Harry screamed again. He fell backward. Collapsing on the ground, clutching his head, his back arched, bowed backward. He couldn't draw breath to scream again; instead he wheezed and groaned, making horrible gasping whining noises.

The torture lasted an eternity before he was left, sweating and shaking on the floor. Tears drenched his face as sobs tore through his sore throat. His brain felt liquefied. He could almost feel it sloshing around in his skull. His eyes swam in their socket. God, he felt electrocuted.

For many long minutes, he just lay there, curled on his side, hurting and breathing. When the migraine descended to tolerable levels, he pulled himself carefully onto his knees. The owl was watching him impassively, made him think of Fawkes. Where was the phoenix? Did he die with the Headmaster? But that didn't make sense. Phoenixes were immortal, weren't they?

Carefully he grabbed onto a table and pulled himself to his feet. His legs wavered under him, but he forced them to hold steady. A burst of fire beside his hand had him jerking away, falling back on his arse. The phoenix regarded him with black wise eyes.

"Hey, boy. Was just thinking of you."

The phoenix cooed and glided down to land on his knee. He was surprisingly light. With shaking fingers, Harry took the parchment tied to his leg.

_Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then my fears have come to pass. I have embarked on my next grand adventure. Whether by the Dark curse on my hand or by Tom in retaliation for destroying and hunting his Horcruxes…_

Harry stopped reading as a burst of pain exploded behind his eyes. He cried out as he collapsed. Fawkes gave a sharp cry and began to sing. The sweet song soothed some of the burning pain, even as a memory unfolded from the depths of his mind. He was standing over an ancient tomb, one hand tugging unconsciously on his long beard, the other trailing a finger along the words as he read. Horcrux, one of the Darkest evil acts. The breaking of a human's precious soul for immortality.

The passage went on, but he couldn't comprehend most of it. The key points were understandable, though. Voldemort had broken his soul so that he could be resurrected through them should he ever be killed, thus making himself immortal. In order to kill Voldemort, all the Horcruxes had to be destroyed first. It also explained why the Dark Lord was so inhuman, cruel, and evil. He'd literally torn apart the thing that made you human in the first place. The mere idea had Harry shivering in disgust.

With a blink, he was back in the office. What the hell was that? He'd never been to that foreign library, never had a beard, yet he _remembered_ being there.

_My boy, I am so deeply sorry for all the wrongs I've committed against you. They were unknowing, but I am still responsible for the great suffering you've endured. I was blind, Harry, and will always regret failing you. I love you, Harry. Perhaps you will not wish to hear this. Perhaps you shall never forgive me. But I must say it. You are a wonderful young man. Your integrity and strength has never ceased to amaze me. I am so very proud of you. _

Tears scalded Harry's cheeks, his hands began to shake, but he continued to read.

_I leave this and my Pensieve for your use. The memories I've left in the basin have been removed permanently from my mind. Not even their echoes remain, so I do not recall what they contain, but I do know they are of vast importance. You will now possess them as if they were your own. Forgive me for the added pain the transfer will cause. Nothing burns worse than thoughts. I fear you will need them in order to succeed in the future, or I would not go to such lengths. Having a second-hand experience of the events they contain will not be enough._

_Trust Severus if you need help. He is the only other person alive I hold absolute faith in, besides yourself. He has maneuvered through Dark times and was able to remain whole and alive. He will understand and know how to assist you. The Order will help you, but it will be difficult. I am not sure how their loyalties will shift with the changing times. I am afraid your youth will be held against you. I have no doubt that your valor and intelligence will win them over in the end, but be careful. Also, my younger brother, Aberforth, can be counted on in times of emergency, though he may need to be coaxed into that help. He is the bartender at the Hog's Head. Not many know of his connection to me. Please be careful with this information._

_Harry, trust your instincts. Do not blame yourself for anything. You did what you must. Some might not understand, but I am aware of the harsh realities you have had to face. There was no easy decision. There never is. I have no doubt you did the best you could. I've watched you grow for five long years. I think I know you at least in part, and I trust you explicitly. Be well, Harry. I wish I could grant you happiness and peace, all the things you deserve, but I've reached the end of my time. Please remember to take care of yourself. You are loved more than you know._

_With deepest regard,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry curled his knees to his chest, holding the letter protectively toward his middle, and cried.

**Chapter end**


	14. Justify

**Justify**

Voldemort trailed his fingers down Lucius' blood-flecked chest. The aristocrat hung suspended from chains in the dark, damp dungeon under the manor. There were others – young and unfamiliar to Voldemort – keeping Lucius company. The damage done to their exhausted bodies was impressive. He found himself again reevaluating Harry Potter, becoming more and more aware of the boy's unique abilities. This had been done without Harry relinquishing control to the soul-shard inside of him, otherwise he'd have gotten a vision of it happening. Truly, it was magnificent. The boy had embraced the Dark more than Voldemort had realized.

He laughed, delighted with this turn of events. Securing Harry would be even easier and more pleasurable than he'd anticipated. The only thing that could make the event more perfect was if Severus really had been hanging among these others. It wasn't a lie when he'd told the boy the man looked good in his dungeon. Severus had always been at his most beautiful when he was bloody and in pain.

Yes. These were glorious times. Soon Voldemort would take his place in the war. He'd show the world their folly in embracing Muggles, and they will realize how terrible and mighty he truly is. The Wizarding World was his for the taking. No one would be able to stop him once he had the Boy-Who-Lived under his control. Dumbledore was dead, likely from the poison Voldemort had forced down his throat, exasperated by magical exhaustion due to being the bonder of an Unbreakable Vow.

The old bastard had certainly put his all into it. Not even removing the Dark Mark had been enough to sate the vow. He'd had to physically relinquish Severus into Narcissa's care, unable to even ask where she would take him. Dumbledore's magic was impressive indeed. Of course, Harry didn't need to know that. A grin split his face as he imagined the boy's panic and desperation at thinking Severus was at his not so tender mercies.

His thoughts were disturbed as Lucius moaned, regaining consciousness. The man's body was obviously wracked with agony from stiff and torn muscles. It practically vibrated off his trembling form. Blue foggy eyes struggled, trying to plead for relief, but his mouth and throat were so dry that his begging was reduced to the soundless motions of chapped lips. Beautiful.

Reflexively Voldemort reached out to read his minion's mind and hissed as pain spiked between his eyes. His Legilimency was still not functioning. Frowning darkly, he turned from Lucius and strode from the dungeon. It was like stepping into a different world as he returned to the main house. Full of light and elegant furnishings, it held no resemblance to the dark place of pain that hid underneath. That pleased Voldemort and soothed his temper. Plus, Harry's reply should arrive soon. Then he'd have his answers.

His prediction was proven correct. He'd just stepped into his study when his owl returned to him through the open window. He smirked, but his satisfaction evaporated when all he received was a scrap of parchment, not the memories he sought.

_Voldemort, I'll meet you at the Shrieking Shack at 1 am tonight. I'll trade you my memories for Severus. – HP _

He leaned back in his chair, ruby eyes narrowed dangerously. "Very well, Harry. We'll continue to play it your way. For now."

**xXxXxXx**

Severus was confused to say the least, but that was his normal state lately. After all, two days ago he'd woken up in the future, a very bizarre future, where Lucius' son mocked the Dark Lord and was obsessed with a Potter of all things, Narcissa was a Malfoy, pregnant and old, and the Dark Lord had apparently once been defeated by a baby. Narcissa insisted their Lord had returned even more powerful than before, but it was still mind-boggling. That the Dark Lord could be defeated at all, and by a _baby?_

He was aware he was missing massive chunks of information about the time he'd… lost? Skipped?... but he could hardly grasp the little he'd been told, especially about his own life. Apparently he'd become a Death Eater, rose in the ranks and was highly favored, in the Inner Circle even. He'd been given an important task to spy on the Light and had somehow convinced Albus Dumbledore that he honestly repented following the Dark Lord. He became a trusted confidant and given the job of Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin.

Just last year, he'd been granted the DADA position instead of Potions, while becoming very close to the Dark Lord. Narcissa informed him that he'd often been intimately shut away with their Lord for hours at a time. Even more telling, he was the only one the Dark Lord let fight back-to-back with him when they battled against the Muggles. Which blew his mind. That _Muggles_ were now major enemies. At first, he'd scoffed, but Narcissa made it very, very clear how dangerous they had become.

It was all so far-fetched and unbelievable. He had no idea how he was going to cope with all of it, and now _this!_ He hadn't had nearly enough time to find his feet. He was lost, his violently conflicting emotions making him feel like he teetered on the brink of insanity. It took everything he had to force the situation into a somewhat logical shape. He wasn't sure if he could do this.

"Severus, did you hear me? The Dark Lord has summoned you," Narcissa repeated, eyes bright with urgency and worry.

"To the Shrieking Shack, yes, I heard you," he answered numbly. Severus busied himself by spelling his overly long robe clean. He desperately groped for something familiar in this crazy new world. "Where's Lucius?" He'd been the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had. Surely Lucius would have come when he heard of Severus' predicament.

Narcissa hesitated, eyes darting to Draco.

Draco, his sullen companion over these last few days, glared. He repeated the question in a low, dark voice, "Where's Father?"

Narcissa slumped in defeat. "He's in the dungeon, suffering punishment."

Draco stiffened and a bitter smile slashed across his face. "What did he do this time? Breathe wrong?"

"Draco!"

Severus shook his head. He couldn't imagine the perfect Lucius Malfoy being chained and tortured by the Dark Lord. No one was more cunning or slippery than Lucius, but apparently things had changed. _What hasn't,_ he thought a tad hysterically. He hastily Occluded his churning emotions away.

"I should go," he said as calmly as he could. "Where do I floo?"

"The Hog's Head. Be sure to hide your face," Narcissa answered softly as she turned away from her son.

Draco smirked. "Good luck. You'll need it."

Severus straightened his back and tried to ignore the blond's foreboding words. He stepped into the floo and obediently called, "Hog's Head!"

Again he was whirling, on his way to meet the Dark Lord for the first time, but his feelings couldn't be more different. Instead of excitement, all he felt was sick dread. He wasn't ready. He was at his weakest, and showing weakness only got you hurt more. Desperately, he tried to patch together a mask of detachment, but he knew it was strained around the edges. He was so screwed.

The feeling was the exact same he'd felt when he'd go home for the summer, knowing his father's beatings waited for him. The Dark Lord was no longer just a faceless power and a means to glory. He was a threatening figure who'd ripped almost two decades of his life away from him, who had stripped him of being a Death Eater. Severus didn't respond well to threats. He lashed out first, asked questions later. After all these years of abuse, it was the only sane reaction.

Was the Dark Lord calling him out to this deserted location to kill him? Torture him? Severus couldn't see picking the Shrieking Shack as the setting of a reconciliation. Had they really been lovers? Could Severus play on that? The mere thought had him breaking out in a cold sweat. He'd only kissed a girl once, never a boy, though it didn't bother him hypothetically speaking. He just couldn't stand letting anyone get that close.

Nerves squirmed in his stomach, making it a real task to maintain his Occlumency barriers. Much sooner than he wished, he found himself standing outside the Shrieking Shack. He didn't remember the walk from Hog's Head at all. He almost wanted to laugh. The last time he'd been here, he'd been intent on exposing Black and Potter, and he'd almost met his death by the jaws of a raging werewolf. The similarities between the two situations made his breath come quicker, despite all his self-control.

He fought the urge to turn and run. It all boiled down to this moment, and in all honesty, he had nowhere to run to. The Dark was the one place he might ever belong. More importantly, he wanted power and revenge. If he ran away, he'd be leaving behind any chance at either.

Severus pushed open the door. Amazingly, the single hinge held together. It squeaked loudly, and he winced. Dust rose with every step he took further into the gloom. The floorboards creaked and groaned, and he felt his hands begin to tremble. He could almost imagine the heavy breathing, the foul musk, the feral growls of Lupin in his true form.

Terror curled tightly at the base of his spine, icy cold and undeniable. His shoulders hunched defensively, his eyes darting to every shadow before they found the outline of a tall man. For a horrible moment, Severus thought it was his father, and he almost bolted, but then the red-eyed gaze caught and held his own, freezing his feet to the floor.

"Severus," the Dark Lord spoke, voice devoid of any emotional clues.

"M-My Lord," he answered, blushing at his stutter and ducking his head to hide it.

There was a moment of silence. Severus risked a peek up at the powerful wizard. The cold smile he saw made his heart skip a beat. He realized the last place he wanted to be was on this man's bad side, and that's exactly where he was, without even knowing why.

"I have a task for you. Return to Hogwarts. Keep an eye on the happenings there."

"Yes, my Lord," he said hastily. His mind scrambled to understand. Was he getting his old job back as a spy? If he succeeded, would he be returned to a position of pride amongst the Death Eaters? Regardless, he knew this was his last chance to redeem himself. "I will do as you say."

"Good." That magic-rich voice practically purred the word, and Severus shivered.

The door opened for a second time. Severus went still, resolved not to mess up or draw attention to himself. However, he did tilt his head to peer through the curtain of his bangs. His whole body tensed, hate surging through his blood… _Potter!_ … But then the strangest thing happened. Remarkably green eyes caught his own behind ugly glasses. Severus blinked hard and the image of James Potter fell away. In his place, he saw a paler, smaller, younger version with Lily's eyes. Eyes which blazed with temper as they lifted to the Dark Lord.

"What did you do?"

Severus darted a look at the Dark Lord, shocked this boy would speak so to this man, but the Dark Lord merely offered another chilling smile.

"I fulfilled my promise, Harry. Now it's your turn."

Severus cut his attention back to the boy who couldn't be older than fourteen, fifteen. Why was the Dark Lord making deals with a kid, let alone a _Potter?_

The teen clinched his fists, his face going impressively blank. "I'll give you copies of my memories if you do the same."

The Dark Lord's smirk grew. "And here I thought you wanted to trade for sweet Severus. No matter. Do you have access to a Pensieve?"

"You'll give me Severus and your memories," the teen returned coldly.

The Dark Lord moved with surprising speed. He had the boy pinned to the wall by a hand clamped around his neck in less than a second. Severus tried to will himself invisible as the kid arched, an agonized whine whistling through his constricted throat as deep, Dark magic pounded through the room.

"I think you forget who you are dealing with, _Harry_." The Dark Lord leaned close, putting their eyes inches apart. "I could just take what I want."

With a remarkable burst of magic, Potter shoved the older wizard away. Severus gasped as that hot burst of power blew past him. The weight of it nearly rivaled the Dark Lord's own, and he stared, startled, at the small body it had come from. The Dark Lord only laughed, and with a fierce glare, Potter removed three vials that held a silvery light. Memories.

"Take them and go, _Voldemort_. Severus stays here."

Severus shivered yet again as the Dark Lord looked right at him and gave a gentle smile. He literally held his breath until that deadly, red gaze returned to Potter.

"Always a pleasure, Harry," he purred.

Potter remained stonily silent.

The Dark Lord disappeared with a sharp CRACK.

Suddenly, hands were grabbing at his shoulders. "God, Severus, are you okay? What happened?"

Severus jerked away, furious. "Don't touch me, Potter!"

The boy stared at him with suspiciously bright eyes, and Severus glared hotly. Potter acted like he knew him, but that couldn't be right. He'd never befriend a _Potter_. And they'd have been different ages, anyway. Thankfully for Severus' state of mind, the hurt expression disappeared, leaving behind an impassive mask.

"How old are you?"

Severus glared harder. He was confused about _everything_, and he hated it. He spun around, intent on getting away from the shack and back to Hogwarts, where hopefully things would make sense again. Potter sighed and moved to follow. Severus twitched. He couldn't stand the kid behind him. He expected a spell to the back at any moment. He spun on his heel in a violent turn, wand up and out, pointed right at the kid's scarred forehead.

"Get lost, Potter," he growled, palms inexplicably damp.

Potter didn't even twitch, which infuriated Severus more. "I know a quicker way back to Hogwarts. If that's where you're going," he said calmly, as if he weren't being held at wand point.

There was no way Severus was going into that suffocating tunnel. The mere thought made him swallow hard, the memory of a slavering beast breathing down his neck almost overwhelming him. Severus snapped, all the tension and stress transforming into rage that washed over him in waves.

"_Reducto,"_ he screamed, funneling all the chaos into the Blasting Curse.

The boy must have flung up a shield because he was in one piece when he went flying across the room, hitting the wall with a vicious thud, before crumpling in a heap.

Panting, shaking in reaction, Severus hissed coldly, "Let me give you some advice, _Potter_. Stay away from me." With that, he turned and practically fled the shack.

**O**

Harry lay still, gasping, head ringing, as Severus stormed out the front door. Rage burned in his belly and made his vision swim. He was furious at Voldemort. He was furious at himself for being such a fuck-up. He was furious at Severus for disappointing him, even though that was irrational. He'd been so relieved and excited to get his best friend back, only to realize he never would. His Severus was gone. He was a Potter-hating, Dark-inclined teenager once more.

Harry was sick of losing people, _sick_ of being helpless. With a frustrated yell, he jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain the move caused. He kicked the wall as hard as he could. His foot exploded through the rotting wood with a satisfying CRASH. He kicked in three more holes in quick succession until the anger loosened its hold.

He stood there, panting, covered in sweat and dust, and he laughed at himself. This was accomplishing nothing. He spelled most of the grime away and moved toward the secret tunnel, limping slightly and holding his back stiff, afraid to aggravate the full-body bruise he no doubt had gained. He took his time, and as he walked, he realized a few things.

First, Severus wasn't dead. He was merely returned to a younger age. As many difficulties as this posed, it was also a gift. Severus had the chance to do it all over again, to have the life he'd been denied the first time around. Right now he'd never been a Death Eater, and he no longer had to suffer the consequences of being a spy for untold years. He had the chance at a better future, and Harry would do all he could to see that he got one. And that led to the second realization. Severus was going back to Hogwarts where he knew no one, but everyone would remember him and not too fondly. Harry would have to look out for him.

"Let me just add that to my list," he muttered bitterly.

Speaking of his list, he still had things to do tonight. He needed to study, and he was going to corner Hermione tomorrow if he had to invade the girls' dorm to do it. He also needed to plan the next DA meeting. The first week of classes had been canceled in honor of Dumbledore. A funeral would be held next weekend on the grounds. The lack of classes only meant they could spend more time practicing Defense. Using the DA was the perfect way to teach the students the strategies Severus and he had worked on to best defeat the Muggle soldiers. If Harry had any say in it, he'd make sure the students would be ready to fight.

That reminded him of Susan. She'd been trying to talk to him, but he'd avoided her so far. Every time he saw her, he remembered ordering Lucius to kill her Aunt. Although, now that he'd given Voldemort copies of those memories, it was vague and indistinct. Thank heaven for small mercies. He could probably face her now without breaking down completely.

So his list was pretty long, and he had no idea how he'd get it all done, but he'd just have to find a way. The world wasn't going to wait for him to catch up, and Voldemort sure as hell wouldn't. Neither would the war or his friends.

"I'll just have to find a way," he repeated to himself.

**O**

Severus sat across from the new Headmistress of Hogwarts with his arms crossed and a cold expression. _Of course_ another Gryffindor had been chosen.

"So you don't remember fleeing the castle after Albus' death, taking an underage student with you without permission."

"The last thing I remember is getting on the train after graduation," he repeated stiffly.

"That was before you regained consciousness," McGonagall pointed out. "What happened after?"

Severus inclined his head. So she understood subtleties. That meant he had to be careful around her. She wasn't the normal stupid Gryffindor. "I woke up in some rundown shack somewhere with Draco Malfoy. He explained his identity and informed me I was about seventeen years in the future. I flooed to Hog's Head and came here for more answers."

She leaned back in her chair. Her face was aged, her hair almost completely silver. It made her more impressive. "Why didn't he come with you?"

"I didn't know him well enough to ask," Severus lied with a straight face, without dropping eye-contact. He did know it had something to do with Potter, but he wasn't sure what exactly it was, outside Potter had hurt Draco and the blond wanted revenge. But any Slytherin worth his salt could lie well. He liked to think he was even better than average. She obviously believed him, giving a nod and a thoughtful frown.

McGonagall sighed, shoulders going limp with fatigue. "If this is what Albus had to deal with on a regular basis, then it is no wonder he was strange." Sitting forward again, she pinned him to his seat with a surprisingly steely gaze. "You are of age, so I should send you on your way, but I don't like doing that when I don't understand your situation. Technically, you still have your professor's apartment since you were never sacked. We don't need the space, so you may keep it and continue to live here. However, you are no longer experienced enough to teach."

Severus could not afford to get kicked out, but he hadn't actually thought she'd be reasonable. He straightened, hope making his heart beat faster. "I could apprentice. I want to get my Potions Mastery."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You received your mastery when you were nineteen. The youngest to ever do so. Perhaps you will do it again, should your memories not return to you. I am unsure how the Ministry will deal with this. I will shield you for a week. After Albus' funeral, you will have to meet with someone to work out the legalities of your situation." Her serious expression cracked, a smile breaking across her face. "As for becoming an apprentice, I don't recall that you enjoyed learning under anyone's tutelage. I was thinking more of an independent study program. You may study whichever subject you choose and would be required to turn in your results periodically with the appropriate professor. Other than that, you would have free reign."

Severus couldn't believe his good luck. This was better than he'd ever hoped possible. "Thank you," he told her, voice stiff. It wasn't an easy thing for him to say, even when it was sincere.

McGonagall smiled knowingly. "I'm glad you are safe, Severus. You had me worried."

Severus was surprised at the honesty in her expression. The Head of Gryffindor, concerned for him? He stared back at her blankly, beginning to feel overwhelmed once more.

"Come. I'll show you to your rooms."

He followed her, exhausted and depressed. He suspected things were only going to get weirder. He was about to enter rooms that were supposedly his for many years. He wondered how different his older version's taste was. Wondered if it would feel comfortable or just creepy. He clung fiercely to the things that weren't all bad.

McGonagall – no, the Headmistress – had let him stay, given him a private apartment, and granted him permission to study independently. He no longer had to be held back by the slower kids in class, no longer had to stay within the narrow boarders professors imposed. This could be exactly what he needed to regain his footing in this new world. He just had to stay focused, not let things run away with him. The first order of business would be History. He needed to know as much as he could about his missing years. Knowledge was power, after all.

"You may attend meals in the Great Hall, or you may summon a House Elf to bring you meals," McGonagall explained as they stopped at a large wooden door in the dungeons, not too far from the Slytherin common room. "You did not appreciate portraits so this was installed. It takes a key and your magic to open. As Headmistress, I was given a copy of the key, as much good as that would have done me. Here. It is yours until you find the original."

Severus took the black iron key and nodded. "I understand."

She smiled again, further setting him off balance, and left him to try and open the door in private.

He put the key in the lock and bit his lip. Tentatively, he allowed his magic to surface just as he turned the lock. Amazingly, the door opened easily on silent hinges.

Severus stood in the doorway, staring in awe at the sitting room it revealed. The stone floor had been smoothed over to an almost marble finish. Black and white rugs were placed in pleasing geometric locations. A black leather couch sat adjacent to a redwood hearth. A mahogany coffee table sat before it and matching mahogany bookshelves with glass doors, likely locked and protected by spells, lined the opposite wall. The furniture was spare, leaving plenty of open room. At the back, he could just see into a study with even more books, and a door to the left likely led to the bedroom and bathroom.

It wasn't creepy at all. It was wonderful. Feeling the tension of the last few days finally leave his tight shoulders, Severus stepped inside and shut the door. Maybe, just maybe, for the first time in his life, he finally had a place to call home.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry dragged himself downstairs after only a few hours of sleep. It was still early, a good three hours before breakfast would be served. His robe was tugged on sloppily, his hair was a mess, but he hardly noticed. He perked up when he saw Hermione sitting by herself with a text book open on her lap. He walked over silently, judging them to have only an hour before some of the early risers woke and bothered them.

"Hey, Mione. Can I sit here?"

She didn't respond, riveted on the book.

"How are you? You're up early."

Again nothing.

Firmly, he put his hand on the page, covering the words. "What are you reading?"

"Please. I need to study." She pushed at him, eyes still downcast.

"Mione, this is a first year book. You know it already."

Her head snapped up. "What if I forget something? I have to make sure." Her voice was tight, her eyes bright with panic. "I have to study. Please. I have to study."

Harry frowned and moved his hand. Hermione immediately began reading again. This wasn't normal. It had to be a spell that was messing with her mind… He went rigid as blinding pain spiked through his whole body. There were no images, but petals of knowledge reluctantly unfolded in his mind.

With a choked cry, he fell out of his chair, thrashing and rolling in a futile effort to escape the pain. It seemed to last hours. Then, just as suddenly, it was over.

Harry lay limp and exhausted, drenched in sweat. His head still throbbed, his eyes felt swollen in his skull. Light smeared across his vision when he tried to look around, and he hastily shut them before he became sick. He laid absolutely still, focusing solely on his breathing. He drifted into a light sleep that was broken all too soon. Hands grasped at his arm, shaking him lightly. He curled up with a whimper, the motion setting off fresh waves of pain.

"Harry? Are you okay? What happened?"

He let Ron man-handle him into a sitting position, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. He opened his eyes to see he was sitting in a circle of Gryffindor students. They stared down at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Only Ron was crouched next to him.

"Where's Hermione," he asked in a hoarse whisper, ignoring everyone else and keeping his eyes on his friend.

"Your nose is bleeding," Ron informed him, obviously distraught. "You need Pomfrey."

Harry shook his head no and quickly swiped at his face with his sleeve. "Ron. Hermione?"

Ron sighed, running his hands through his hair and over his face roughly. "She's not here. Probably studying somewhere more quiet."

Harry gripped Ron's shoulder, using him as a crutch to get to his feet. He knew what was wrong with Hermione now. She'd been Obliviated. His new memories provided him with more information about the curse than he thought it possible to know. Symptoms, remedies, side-effects, the casting of… He knew it all as if he'd studied and practiced it himself.

Most people had no problems with being Obliviated, but there were some who suffered negative side-effects. Hermione just happened to fall into that category. It had caused her to become obsessive and might possibly cause her to develop other psychosises. There was a chance that she couldn't be helped. The Obliviate Curse was serious and dangerous. If actual memories had been erased, ninety percent of the time, they could not be restored. However, if the memory center had merely been blocked from thinking a certain way, that was more easily fixed. Regardless, she needed treatment now. The longer she went without being healed, the more likely there would be long-term damage.

"Help me to the Headmistress' office," he ordered. He knew his shaky legs wouldn't carry him without support.

"Sure, mate." Ron was obviously worried and about at the end of his rope. "You sure you're okay? Maybe we should swing by the infirmary first."

"No," Harry insisted. "Please. It's important."

Ron sighed again and put his shoulder under Harry's arm. "Let's go then."

Waves of whispers followed them as they staggered through the crowded corridors. Harry couldn't make out what exactly was being said through the buzzing in his ears, but the blush on Ron's face told him it was embarrassing, whatever it was. Harry wasn't surprised. When was gossip _not_ embarrassing?

Ron made to leave when they finally reached the gargoyle fifteen minutes later.

"Where are you going? You're coming with me."

Ron looked at him with such relief, Harry vowed to himself he'd include his friend more.

"Headmistress…"

"Harry! What happened to you?" McGonagall leapt to her feet, eyes wide in concern.

"I'm just tired," he said quickly, brushing off her concern and making a bigger effort to stand on his own. "I think Hermione is suffering severe side-effects of an Obliterate."

Ron stiffened next to him but said nothing.

McGonagall frowned. "That's a very serious accusation, Mr. Potter."

"I'm aware," he snapped. "She needs to go to St. Mungo's and see a Mind Healer as soon as possible. It's already been left too long."

"I'll have Poppy examine her first," McGonagall insisted as she swept by them toward the door. "If she needs further care, I will take her myself."

As they followed her down the staircase back into the school proper, Ron spoke up weakly. "Can we go with her?" His face was disturbingly pale.

"You may meet me at the Hospital Wing if you wish," she relented. "But if she needs to see a Healer, it would be best if you remain at Hogwarts. I will go fetch her. Any idea where she'll be?"

"The library," Harry answered.

"Very well." McGonagall wasted no more time, sweeping away from them down the corridor. Students practically leapt out of her way.

Harry eyed Ron from the corner of his eye as they made their way slowly to the Hospital Wing. "What's wrong?"

"I should have known she needed help."

"Ron, you couldn't have known. It's pretty rare for people to have this reaction to an Obliviate. She pushed everyone away. No one knew she was getting so bad."

"How'd you figure it out?"

"I just read it some…" Harry hesitated, coming to a stop. Hadn't he just promised to involve his friend more? How could he lie to him now, even if he knew it might sound insane? Ron stared back at him, waiting. Bracing himself, Harry decided to tell the truth. "Dumbledore left me his Pensieve. He put a spell on it that transferred the memories inside to me permanently instead of letting me view them as an impersonal scene."

Ron blinked a few times before stepping forward and hugging Harry tightly. "Thanks for telling me the truth. And I'm sorry. I had foreign memories invade me last year, remember? I know it hurts like a bitch."

"Thanks, I guess. Just stop hugging me," Harry teased, vastly relieved Ron hadn't freaked out or anything about it.

Ron laughed. "Yeah. Come on. You still look like you've fallen off your broom. I bet McGonagall's already there with Hermione."

**xXxXxXx**

After viewing the memories, Voldemort felt coldly furious. Potter was too lenient and soft, and now his servants were growing increasingly disrespectful and willful. It made his blood boil. He'd had them trained well. He wasn't about to let them slip now. They would learn their place again, and Voldemort would enjoy every second of _instructing_ them. Their holiday was over.

He sat upon his throne, Nagini delightfully coiling upon the heated rugs Voldemort had laid down for her next to his seat. The temperature was rather cold due to his temper, but she was unaffected, protected by warming charms. Ruthlessly, he yanked the semi-conscious Lucius to his aristocratic knees and dug a finger into the mark adorning his forearm.

With a brutal stab, Dark magic speared into the Dark Mark and into every other of its kind. Not five minutes later, twenty-seven Death Eaters Apparated directly into the throne room into their assigned places. Voldemort was pleased. It was much quicker than having them file in from the Apparation room. Now there would be no delay before the punishments started.

Nagini reared, her mouth dropping slightly open to reveal a flash of fang.

Voldemort smiled gently; his servants stiffened. They hadn't seen the great snake in too long, and the smarter ones knew it was an ominous sign for this meeting. "I want every Death Eater spouse in front of me. You have three minutes," he hissed with deceptive softness.

After a moment's hesitation, they stood, bowed, and Apparated away.

Lord Voldemort stroked his beloved's head as he waited impatiently. He stared down at the weakly shivering, naked bodies at his feet. He wondered if anyone would be smart enough to gather Narcissa, since her husband obviously could not. He doubted the young ones had spouses, so they were in the clear.

With sharp cracks, his followers returned, towing along their wives. And, ah, yes, Sebastian Nott had retrieved both Narcissa and his wife, Abigail. Carrow, the only female Death Eater remaining, hadn't bothered to leave, since no one wanted a barren witch for a wife. She'd remained at the back of the room, still and silent. She was smart. Voldemort hadn't really noticed her until now. He would have been tempted to kill her for being so much less than his sweet Bella, had she drawn his attention when they'd been relatively alone.

Finally, the last returned, just within the time limit he'd allotted. He reached his hand forward and crooked his pale fingers at the last Death Eater to return.

"McNair, come. Bring lovely Ursula." His voice was a mere whisper, like wind among autumn leaves, and he was pleased to see those closest to him shiver.

They stepped forward as one unit, shoulder's squared and expressions blank.

Voldemort could see the slight pouch of her stomach due to the tight cut of her elegant robes. She wasn't young, but not nearly old, in her late forties, only a few years younger than her husband. Voldemort gave her a cruel smile. Potter had granted his servants much they did not yet deserve. It was time to remind him he could take away as easily as give. He incanted one of the crudest, simplest, Dark spells.

"_Crucio."_

Ursula fell with an agonized shriek. McNair stiffened helplessly beside her convulsing form. Intelligently, he did not make a move to aid or defend her. The silence that consumed the rest of the room was absolute. It made the woman's screams the more horrible and fascinating. Her bowels released in less than a minute, tainting the air with the scent of piss and shit. Voldemort watched contentedly as the shrill shrieks of agony rose in pitch and desperation before her voice gave out, becoming a thread whine that nonetheless carried to every corner of the room.

Voldemort grinned, revealing straight, white teeth. He held the spell for four and a half minutes, until the stress forced her to miscarry. Her magic had tried to protect the unborn child, but Voldemort was relentless. Her body arched grotesquely as she lost the baby, and she collapsed in wretched sobs as he released her.

"Get this filthy sow out of the way," he barked at the pale McNair.

The man immediately bent and lifted his damaged wife into his arms, his black mustache quivering. He carried her in silence back to his place in the circles of Death Eaters.

The others held their breath as they waited to see what would happen next.

Voldemort let his eyes land on the second to last couple to return. Again he crooked his finger. "Gibbon, bring me sweet Malinda."

The fair-haired woman was shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her husband had to pull her by her arm. She came passively, but her eyes were huge and frightened in her face.

Voldemort smiled at her with a whispered, _"Crucio."_

She screamed, "Noooo!" The wail bounced off the naked walls, until it distorted into noise and not a word. Gibbon shifted anxiously, not as still or passive as McNair, but he didn't say anything, made no move for his wand. Voldemort pierced him with a cold, red look, and it froze him in place. Her magic gave out much sooner. He only had to torture her for two minutes before she lost her child. He held a few seconds more before releasing her.

"Return to your place," he hissed.

Gibbon practically fled, nearly dropping his precious wife twice. Voldemort almost laughed. His eyes landed on the third to last couple. It was the Notts and Narcissa.

"I see you had to fetch an extra person. I will let your tardiness slide, Nott." His gaze pinned Narcissa to the spot. "Narcissa." He lifted his hand, his fingers beckoning. "Come check on your husband."

She moved forward like a sleepwalker. Her pale hands linked over her stomach in an unconscious display of protection, but her face revealed no fear. Voldemort stared impassively as she knelt in filth and blood, in the after effects of two unborn children, to press a single hand to her husband's forehead. Her head remained bowed submissively as she waited for another command.

"Three minutes," he told her coldly. "Let's see if you can keep your gift, Narcissa Malfoy."

She nodded, face pinched and pale.

"_Crucio."_

There were no screams, not from the regal Lady Malfoy. Thin, animalistic whines took the place of female shrieks. She barred her teeth like a warrior, grunting and breathing through the excruciating pain. Voldemort watched, pleased. He favored the Malfoys. Potter seemed to as well, despite Lucius' constant attacks. The spell ended. She was soaked with the blood of the women before her and her own waste, but she hadn't yet aborted. She was still at risk and would need immediate attention to keep the child however.

Voldemort let his eyes sweep the assembled. They were shaken and pale but also glowed in reaction to the cruelty. They didn't need a speech about his displeasure, or an explanation of what they did wrong. All they cared about was that Voldemort was strong, merciless, and their Dark Lord. He let them stare a moment longer.

"Nott. Take the Malfoys to their home."

Sebastian nodded and gracefully strode forward. Tanthia walked demurely at his heels, her head bowed submissively. He placed his hand on Lucius' chest, his other on Narcissa's head. Tanthia put both hands on her husband's shoulders, blending her magic with his to make the Apparation smoother. The transition might possibly tip Narcissa's body into an abortion. They disappeared with a CRACK.

Voldemort stood and walked through the gore, his robes trailing crimson behind him as he walked among his followers. He stared down each, tortured a few, careful not to damage them too badly. He had a feeling the reprieve from battle was at an end. The Muggles would attack soon, and he needed his servants ready and in top condition. Another reason to target the women and not his soldiers.

"Let's see if we can do better, shall we," he asked them almost pleasantly.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry never wanted to go through anything like that again. Ron seemed to share the feeling. He looked sick and pale, his eyes glassy, giving them a feverish look. Hermione hadn't taken kindly to being sent away for treatment. She had screamed and wailed, begged both Harry and Ron to stop them. Hell, Ron may have jumped the Headmistress anyway, even knowing McGonagall was only doing this to help Hermione, if it weren't for the fact that their friend wouldn't stop screaming about how scared she was to forget anything.

It was horrible. Hermione's mind wasn't like the average person's. So organized and methodological, her memory was near perfect. Being forced to forget something due to a spell had snapped her sanity. Her subconscious worried at the missing memories constantly, and couldn't let it go. Not by herself. So she needed help to cope.

It was one of the hardest things Harry had ever had to do, just stand there as Pomfrey wrestled Hermione to a bed and forcefully sedated her. He wanted to climb through the floo after McGonagall, go with her to St Mungo's and never leave Hermione's side again. This was his fault. But McGonagall made it clear they had to stay. They couldn't help Hermione right now. They'd only get in the way. Besides, they were needed in the school.

The trip to the Room of Requirement was spent in silence, both he and Ron lost in their thoughts. By the time they reached the room, most of the DA was already present and paired up. Harry locked away his personal turmoil with practiced ease and slid on a confident mask. He had a task to do.

There were about twenty-five students present from third year to seventh. Every House was represented except Slytherin. He'd have to do something about that. Harry moved to the front of the room and leap up onto the stage that appeared. Ron followed and placed himself a little behind Harry's right shoulder supportively.

"All right, everybody. Sorry I'm late. I'll try not to let it happen again. Defense is more important than ever, and I plan to take it a lot more seriously. Things have changed, so I'm going to be introducing new strategies that were designed specifically to combat the new enemy. We're no longer up against wizards. There's no point in focusing on dueling. The magic-suppressors, or null bombs as they're being g called, mean we have to change how we fight, or we're going to lose. Now, I also want you guys to look for Slytherins to recruit. They're going to need to know how best to defend themselves, too"

"You can't be serious!"

Harry had expected an outburst, but not from quiet Susan Bones. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with angry tears.

"I'm not working with Slytherins! You're crazy if you honestly think we can work besides Death Eaters."

"Then I'm crazy," he answered back flatly.

"They're _evil_," she practically shrieked.

Harry gave her a sad, understanding look. "Maybe so, but they are still a part of us, of our world. We need them to survive."

"Rubbish!" She shook her head hard, making her long braid whip around her head. "We don't need them to win. And if we did, I'd rather die! Death Eaters killed my aunt! And this war is their fault in the first place! Their attacks on the Muggle world during the first war drove the Muggles into attacking us!"

"Believe what you want," Harry told the group, looking away from Susan's hurt and fury. If he played into her concerns, he'd only make them seem more valid. Treating them like they were nothing made Susan seem like a hysterical girl instead. "I'm in charge of the DA, and I'm inviting the Slytherins. You don't have to team up with them, but they need practice, too. I'd also like to point out that none of them are Death Eaters. Just kids who are scared about the future like us."

"Really? I thought we were running the DA together." Susan spun on her heel and marched toward the door. When she spoke again, she kept her back to the room. "Anyone who wants to continue the way we have been because it is a _good_ plan, can join me here Wednesday and Friday nights."

There were some shifty glances before others followed after her. By the time the last had left, only half of the group remained. They stared at Harry expectantly, wondering what his reaction would be.

He sighed and rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. "I understand how different this is. It wasn't easy to accept for me, either, but I'd rather live than die. And that's what it boils down to. But don't feel you have to choose between Susan and me. You can come to both meetings. Maybe you can show the others what we worked on. These new strategies are the only chance we have. Anything less and you'll be slaughtered."

Many faces paled at this, but it was important for them to understand the danger. Harry began to pace at the front of the stage, his wand tapping his thigh.

"With the null bombs in effect, spells with long-tem effects are useless. So no magical chains or Stunners. We have to cast to kill."

There was a shocked gasp at this bold statement. He captured as many eyes as he could. He was glad they seemed to be listening. This wasn't a game. It wasn't a joke. This was real. Very, very real, and they had to know that now. But he didn't want them to feel alone, so he carefully made sure to include himself by saying 'we', even though he knew most of this stuff already. It would give them confidence that they desperately needed.

"We have to be quick. Shields only function at a fraction of their normal strength and go down in seconds. We need to learn to use the environment to our advantage. Buildings and trees protect us from the bullets. They can't veer or go around objects. They only fly in a straight line. Groups of three work best. Small enough to move quickly from cover to cover, but still enough to protect each other from many directions. We also have to get used to fighting while guns are going off and there's screaming chaos around us."

They stared at him, faces pale and clammy. He hated this. He was taking their innocence. Just like his own childhood had been stolen, he was taking theirs. But what choice did they have? The Muggles weren't going to let the kids go and only target adults. They were after one thing. Annihilation of all magical humans.

"Don't worry. We'll start slow. Work with spells that function the best even under the null bomb effects. Next meeting, we'll get used to working in teams. I won't add Muggle weaponry for at least a week, so we'll be somewhat prepared. And when we're done with all this crap, you'll know how best to protect yourselves and your hometowns if they are ever attacked."

The group of fourteen students perked up at this. It was a beginning, no matter how small. And Harry was hopeful that they would learn faster than the Death Eaters had. They had fewer habits to break than the adults, after all.

"Okay. Let's begin," he said with a hard grin. He lifted his wand and began to run through the repertoire of neutral spells he knew that would be the most effective.

**Chapter end**


	15. Passion

**A/N: **All hail Saltwater! My glorious beta who really rocks at editing. Seriously. You all need to do a little cheer in honor of her. Ready? Okay... **GO, SALTWATER! WE LOVE YOU!** ... Thanks a bunch. It's always important to give thanks to appropriate people, and trust me, she is very deserving.

.

**Passion**

Harry felt more upbeat after the DA session, but he was still exhausted. Maintaining an image of strength and confidence took a lot more energy than he really had to spare. He thought longingly of his bed in Gryffindor Tower, but then caught sight of Susan standing against the wall across from the Room of Requirement and all such thoughts disappeared. A smile stretched her face, and it was painfully fake, at least to Harry's eyes.

"Can I talk to you," she asked with that too big smile.

"Harry?"

His eyes cut to Ron. His friend hadn't left his side during the whole meeting and that meant more to Harry than he'd ever be able to say. He reached up and clasped his friend's shoulder. "I'm fine. I'll catch up with you at dinner."

"You sure?"

Harry nodded. Susan's smile ratcheted up another degree. "I'm sure. We just have to talk about some stuff."

Ron looked disapproving. "All right. See you later, then." He took a few steps backward, but when Harry didn't call him back, he turned and walked away, shaking his head.

Susan hooked her arm through Harry's and pulled him in the opposite direction. He was too tired to draw things out, so he took the lead and tugged her into a nearby empty classroom. As soon as he put privacy wards up, she spun to look at him with a crinkled brow and confused eyes.

"What's going on, Harry? I thought we agreed about the Death Eaters."

He squirmed. It was his fault her Aunt, her mother figure, had been killed. His fault she blamed the Death Eaters. "Susan, I hate what they did. I do. It was wrong and cruel," he winced at his words, essentially condemning himself with them, "but things have changed."

She stormed up to him, eyes blazing, hands on her hips. "They killed my Aunt! _Tortured_ her! They killed your parents, too! How can you act like none of that matters?"

"I…" Harry floundered. He didn't realize he'd been retreating until his back hit the door. "Susan…"

"No! I want to know how they got to you!" Her arms suddenly dropped, her voice became soft. "Are they threatening you? Is it blackmail, Harry?"

"No… Susan… Things have changed," he repeated helplessly. "They… The attacks against the Light have stopped. I'm trying to protect everyone. To keep things like that from happening again."

"Oh, Harry." She shook her head. Her hand reached to cup his cheek. Harry sucked in a startled breath from the unfamiliar touch. Gentleness was completely foreign to him. "Don't be naïve. They're just bidding their time. They'll use any opening you give them to attack where it will hurt the most. You _know_ that, Harry. Don't do this. Don't let them get to you."

"It's not like that." He slipped out of her reach and put distance between them. "Susan, listen to me. We're at _war_. We can't divide our numbers."

"Exactly. We can't divide the Light, so why are you, Harry?" Susan closed the distance again. "Last time I checked you agreed with me. What changed from last week, Harry? I thought we were in this together. Is this because of something I did? Are you mad at me?"

She was near tears. Panic slammed his heart against his ribs. "No, of course not!" His palms were sweaty. "Susan, this isn't about you. God… I just… I mean, things are crazy right now. Everything's changing."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Is this your way of saying you don't feel the same anymore? This is a lousy way of breaking up with me, Harry!"

"What!" Harry felt all the blood drain from his face. His head spun. Voldemort wouldn't have…. Would he? "Wait. What?"

"No. I get it." She flung her long braid almost violently over her shoulder. "I should have seen this coming. All the time you pressured me to keep us secret. They way you made us sneak around. You never did love me, like you said, did you? You just, what? Were bored? Were lonely? Thought you'd mess around a bit? That I was some stupid girl, _grieving_ for her Aunt…"

"Susan! No!" Harry rushed forward as she burst into sobs. She clung to his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. "Susan, I'd never… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean… Please, don't cry, Susan."

She lifted her head, her eyes pinning him. "I love you, Harry. I love you so much. I don't want this to come between us. Whatever is wrong, we can work it out."

He was so shocked that he stood frozen as her tear-stained lips pressed against his own. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, his neck, holding him in place. He gasped, once, twice, before pushing her away with shaking hands. He felt sick and furious, but mostly he felt deep pain for this girl who'd lost so much and thought she was in love with him.

"Susan, stop a minute… I don't… We…" He shook himself hard. "I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you," he told her honestly, begging her to believe him. "Things are so… confused right now. I think we both need to really think things through…"

"You are an utter _bastard_, Harry Potter! There's nothing _confused_ about how I feel for you! I'm sorry you don't feel the same!"

Harry didn't even try to dodge the hand that lashed out. She slapped him hard. The sting humiliated as much as it hurt, and he watched helplessly as she spun and stormed out of the room. He stood there, a storm of confusion and fury tearing him up inside. How did things get so messed up? He could hardly comprehend it all. He stood there, panting impotently, until it felt like he was sucking out all the air in the room. The walls leaned toward him, closing in, and Harry couldn't take it anymore. He ran.

He ran until his lungs burned. Until the sobs caught in his throat broke apart and disintegrated. Until his legs felt weak and watery. He ran until he couldn't anymore.

He stood gasping, clinging to the rough stone wall as he tried to remain conscious. Dots spun through his vision, but he could still see her clearly. Susan, flushed with anger, crying, proclaiming her love. If the Pretender had more lovers than Draco, who was to say Susan was the only one molested? _God._ He felt sick. What had been done to Draco was bad enough, but now he had to face the fact that Voldemort had committed even more sexual crimes while using _Harry's_ body.

He felt filthy, but all the baths in the world couldn't make him clean again. He felt like screaming and never stopping. Felt like tearing Voldemort to pieces or die trying. Felt like ripping his own skin off and flogging himself. He had no idea how to make _this_ right. It was impossible. He pressed his palms and cheek against the wall, silently giving way to his tears.

**O**

Draco climbed the staircase to the Headmaster's office. He was sick of whittling away his time in that filthy shack, too scared to go home in fear of the Dark Lord finding him. His mother and father were hurt. His mother might lose the baby she'd sold her soul for. His father may never regain consciousness. The bastard Dark Lord had once more eclipsed his hatred for Potter. Besides, he couldn't stop thinking about Harry.

His whole body vibrated with the memory of his rough lover. Draco was still pissed and hurt over the cruel things Harry had said while tossing him aside like yesterday's rubbish. He wanted – No, he _needed_ to make Harry pay, to make him hurt just as badly as Draco did. The urge had grown stronger with every day that had passed. Thus he'd wiggled out from under his mother's confinement spells and fled back to Hogwarts.

"Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall regarded him solemnly as he stepped into the office.

"I request sanctuary and aid for my mother," he told her bluntly. He wanted to get this over with quickly. He needed to see Harry.

"Very well. Have a seat. I have a few questions."

Draco sat ungracefully with an impatient huff. He knew what she wanted to know, but he wasn't going to rat out Severus for killing Dumbledore or reveal Harry for the budding Darkling he was. No. Knowledge was power, after all. He'd hold that information close until it could most benefit him. Until then, he'd play ignorant.

**O**

Harry had no idea how long he stood there, but when his eyes cleared, he realized he'd unconsciously gone to the dungeons. Snape territory. He missed Severus terribly.

"What are you doing down here, Potter?"

As the hateful hiss reached him, he spun toward the speaker, wand in hand. "Walking," he answered evenly, staring into the shadows.

"Dangerous territory to be walking in for a Gryff."

"Is it?" Harry held steady, waiting.

"Your toy's not here. Professor Snape got him away. You'll never hurt him again."

This was about Draco, Harry realized. "No. I never will," he agreed, honestly relieved about that.

Blaise Zabini stepped into the light. A heel click sounded from behind, and Harry turned sideways so he could still keep Blaise in sight. Pansy and Millicent looked ready to murder. Gregory Goyle stood with them, while Vincent Crabbe appeared behind Blaise.

Harry could have stopped them. His magic blazed high and strong in his chest even as his body practically strummed with exhaustion, but he would've had to hurt them. He didn't have the control to disable them without doing damage. And, God, he was tired of hurting people. He blocked the first few spells, but inevitably he fell, agony exploding behind his eyes, as the Slytherins got their revenge.

And really…

He deserved it.

Deserved the bright bursts of agony that ravaged every inch.

Harry screamed, harsh raw cries, as they took turns using the Cruciatus Curse. It felt like invisible dull razors sliding along his bones, scraping, sawing. An invisible serrated metal vice that snapped closed on his abdomen. Open. Closed. Open. Until he was certain that chunks of his flesh were torn away. But Harry knew pain. Knew how to survive it.

He let his mind break, welcomed insanity, and suddenly he was in the rundown shack. This wasn't an attack, it was addiction and withdrawal. Severus cradled his sweat-slicked skull, humming a counterpart to his animal grunts and agonized wheezing whistles. Harry twisted, jerking, desperate to escape the pain. It sank deeper and deeper. Soon he'd be rent into a thousand blood-soaked pieces.

He reached up a jumping, jerking hand. Severus caught it, held tight, as he bent over Harry's convulsing skeleton, using his weight to pin him in place. His cheek pressed against Harry's own, the humming now closer, warmer, giving him something to cling to, something to break up the pain. It wasn't _all_ he was.

Harsh, wracking sobs. A broken, high-pitched whine. The pain shuddered through his broken body, only slowly loosening its tenacious grip. He realized he was the source of the horrific sounds and tried to stop. Gulping, desperate gasps were the best he could do. He couldn't see yet, but he could hear the sound of steps retreating.

_Slytherins_, he remembered.

Limp, Harry allowed his eyes to shut. Just for a moment. It wasn't like he could see, anyway. He lay there and simply breathed, riding out the lingering red-hot pokers twisting cruelly under his skin, prying apart his joints.

It came in undulating waves, soft and almost hypnotizing.

Pain.

It twisted his perceptions, bent rationality, just enough so that he could coexist with the force that was so much greater than sanity. He had no idea how long it took to climb to his feet. No idea how many times he fell in his attempt to walk. He existed in a different realm.

He had finally found the staircase that would lead to the main corridor when it happened. He blamed the pain for distracting him. Why else would he put up no defense when a hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him into an abandoned classroom? It was all he could do to keep his feet. There was no way he could fight back.

"Harry. Looking a little worse for wear."

A body pressed against his, shoving him against the now locked door. Harry's ribs creaked; he groaned hoarsely. Then his mouth was captured, devoured, and he couldn't breathe. A hand slid under his stiff, sweat-dried shirt, and pressed more deliberately against his side. The pain whited out his vision, his thoughts transforming into a burning, blinding blizzard.

"I missed you, Harry."

Warmth. A soft slick tongue lapping at his neck, his ear. Harry sobbed, pain fizzling along every nerve. Color bled into his vision, and he pushed weakly at the body pressed against his. Magic flirting with the edge of Dark washed over his skin. Blood rushed down, and he gave a shocked yelp as pleasure surged through him. _Pulse_, _pulse_, and he was gasping, begging. Pain, pleasure, he had no idea, he just wanted it to stop, but he was trapped, caged by sensation.

"Please, please…"

His answer was growled into his overheated skin. "Hate you. Want you. Need you."

Harry thought he was going to be sick. His stomach tightened. _Oh God, I'm cumming._ A vicious bite tore the skin at his shoulder, and he screamed weakly. Legs collapsing, he slid, throbbing, broken, down the door. His pants were open, his stomach wet, his shirt undone, but he couldn't move to cover his flaming, electric skin. Everything was dark, dizzy, but he tilted his head and looked up.

"Draco," he gasped in recognition.

The blond stared feverishly. Obsession glowed sickly from his face as he pumped his red, weeping erection. That gaze peeled back his skin, leaving an invisible slimy trail. Harry looked away, sickened.

"Merlin, you're beautiful when you cry."

Harry gasped as wet spurted on his cheek, lips, neck. Clumsily, he swiped at his mouth, horrified. Too late. He could taste it. Thick and _horrible_ and sharp. This time he really was sick. He leaned over, spewing bile. His ribs bit at him in reaction, making him pant. At least it burned away that taste.

"Shhh." A hand stroked his hair. Gently, oh so gently. Harry shivered. "I understand now. You were right. About everything."

His chin was grasped, and he was forced to look up. Draco's overwhelming satisfaction, his lust and sadism, swam clearly in his eyes. With a disgusted cry, Harry tore his face away, his magic rising at last. Draco was flung away with a sound like a whip crack. Harry scrambled at his pants, couldn't work the button with his shaking fingers, settled for holding the flaps closed. Draco was getting to his feet again. Harry would've screamed, panicked and afraid, _hurt_, but he couldn't get the breath.

"Don't be like that. It's only fair if we take turns."

"_Dobby,"_ Harry cried, desperate.

A crack and, "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir?"

"Take him away. Please. Take him _away_."

The house-elf stared with shocked eyes. "Yes, Harry Potter sir!"

Draco fired a spell, but Dobby was faster. He latched onto the teenager's arm, and they disappeared as suddenly as Dobby had arrived. Harry covered his face, his knees curling up to his chest protectively. God, he couldn't think. Blackness crowded his vision, his heart hammered so hard he was certain it would burst, and he couldn't stop crying. Deep, wracking sobs. The broken sound followed him down into unconsciousness.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus was holding heavy books in his arms when he passed a classroom door that practically vibrated with powerful magic. He frowned, certain it hadn't been spelled when he'd passed on the way to the library that morning. He palmed his wand, his instincts sinking claws along his nerves. Carefully, he set the books down against the wall before lifting the palm of his free hand to get a feel of the magic. He would never be able to break through. The wards were too powerful. But even as he thought this, the magic tasted him and parted.

He almost turned around. Things were staring to make sense again. Did he really want to walk into another problem? But he'd always been curious. Silent, careful, he slipped into the classroom. For one horrible moment, Severus froze as he recognized the crumpled form. For years _Potter_ had inspired animosity and frustration. This last year of school, he inspired true hatred. Then like a filthy window, those dark emotions shattered.

He didn't think James Potter would ever lay like that, curled into a small defensive ball, face pressed down to hide and protect his eyes. Severus stood still, watching that thin chest carefully, waiting for signs of life. Finally, he saw the slight lifting. He moved forward and crouched, pushing the petite teen onto his back.

Green eyes, dilated with pain, blinked at him in confusion. "Sev'rus…"

The whispered call of his name, hushed with desperation, made an invisible band squeeze his chest. Severus yanked his hand back. No one had ever said his name like that.

Potter sighed, reaching clumsily to grab at Severus' robes. Then his eyes fluttered closed and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Severus' breath came faster. This was crazy. The kid had obviously been attacked. The shaking in his muscles, the shallow, wet breathing, the blue tint to his lips… these were all signs of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus. He and Lucius had studied all the Unforgivables, preparing for what their Lord might demand of them. It wasn't the curse that shocked him. What freaked him out was that Potter's magic had recognized him and let him enter even though Potter was vulnerable and weak. Such trust was incomprehensible.

He tore his eyes away from that pale, drawn face and became aware of the open pants, the stale smell of sex and sweat, the dried tear tracks. Rage gave his magic claws. Potter or not, no one deserved this. He gritted his teeth and breathed through the anger. He had to focus. Potter needed immediate help.

When he was certain he had control, he cast a few cleaning charms. He didn't think Potter would appreciate gossip about being sexually assaulted. He quickly did up the pants and shirt, then levitated the limp body. They weren't far from his rooms. It took only a few minutes to reach his door and only a few more to floo with Potter to the infirmary. The whole time he cursed his curiosity. He should have gone past the damn door.

**O**

Poppy almost collided with the student who stepped out of her fireplace. She'd been about to floo to Malfoy Manor, and she winced at how messy things would have gotten if she'd tried to floo while… Wait. Her brows dipped into a dangerous glare. Students weren't allowed to use the hearths. For exactly this reason! She opened her mouth, a furious tirade on her tongue.

"I just found him like this," the teen interrupted coldly. He tilted his wand and a second body came out of the floo, this one limp and unconscious. Poppy barely took that in because the boy had lifted his head and she stared into shockingly familiar features. "Now if you'd excuse me."

"Severus!"

The teen stopped, his eyes sliding back to hers as a single thin brow arched.

"Merlin's beard! It _is_ you. What…? How…?"

"Perhaps you should see to your patient, Madam Pomfrey," Severus answered, the bad attitude Poppy remembered going hand-in-hand with those teenage features firmly in place.

"Well, I never…" She huffed as Severus used her fireplace again and disappeared in a flash of green fire. What was going on here? Severus looked like a teenager! How had that happened?

Then her attention returned to the student who lay on the nearest hospital bed. Her breath caught and she rushed over to Harry's side. She went to work, shocked at the amount of damage. It had been a few months since Harry had needed her services, and she'd hoped he might make it through one year without being on death's door. Of course, that was probably not the most realistic wish.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry lowered his eyes and kept his silence. He could almost feel the elder witch's fury build.

"I have no idea why you would protect this individual. He may even be the one who attacked Miss Lovegood," Pomfrey practically shouted. "You were brought to me with near permanent nerve damage and…"

"Luna?" Harry frowned. He couldn't remember seeing the girl since he'd been back. _Great_, he thought in dread. "Where is she?"

Pomfrey scowled, her arms crossing. "Where else would she be after the near _fatal_ attack, Mr. Potter? Much like your own. And we've yet to find even a clue as to who is responsible!"

Harry hands clenched around the stiff, disinfected sheets covering his legs. His top was covered in an itchy, white hospital smock that he hated with a passion. If he never wore one again, it would be too soon. He despised being in the infirmary, so perhaps that's why his temper was short.

Or maybe it had to do with the fact Pomfrey had been needling him for almost an hour.

Or maybe it was the stress of the last few months.

Or maybe he still hadn't recovered from being _tortured_.

For one of those reasons or all of them, he snapped. Near glowing emerald eyes glittered up at the mediwitch malevolently. The air grew tight and prickly. Pomfrey went still, eyes wide as Harry spoke in a near hiss.

"I'm not a child who would hide important information due to pride. I have good reasons to keep what happened to myself. As I told you, it was a personal vendetta. It won't happen again. No other students are at risk, and I assure you it had nothing to do with any prior attack on anyone else. Now. Tell me. What happened. To Luna."

Pomfrey gave a little gasp, remembering to breathe. She was obviously struggling to find words and retreated two steps before she succeeded. Harry watched all this calmly, but under the surface he was furious. He knew damn well who had attacked Luna! And it wasn't the bloody Slytherins. _Voldemort_, he growled mentally, hatred stirring to life and spreading through his body with every thump, thump, thump of his heart.

"I cannot disclose her medical information. It's confidential." Her eyes narrowed, a glint appearing in the hazel blue. "Are you telling me you do not remember what happened? You _were_ the one to find her, Mr. Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth. _Of course I was._ "Is she okay?"

"She should be released next week, though she will be weak for several months more." Pomfrey came forward and ran her wand over Harry's head. "Are you experiencing any other memory loss?"

"Wouldn't know, now would I," he snarked, ill–tempered, only to smile as he reminded himself of Severus.

The smile fell as embarrassment swamped his cheeks with red. Severus had seen him. He knew what had happened, must have even cleaned up the evidence because Pomfrey hadn't questioned him about anything sexual. Shame brought tears to his eyes. He rolled over and curled up. He just wanted to sleep. Leave all this behind for a few more hours. He didn't want to think about Luna, Susan, Hermione, or … Draco. He was sick of the worry and guilt. He couldn't deal with any more right now. Not when he felt so shaken. Like his emotions were fractured and cutting him into pieces from the inside out.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. If you insist on being stupid, I cannot stop you." She stepped away and regarded him sternly. "Will you be fine here by yourself? I have to make a house call. I should only be gone a few hours."

Harry lifted his eyes tiredly to answer. Without meaning to, he was dipping into her thoughts. His body went rigid. And rage and pain exploded behind his eyes.

**O**

Poppy lunged forward as her patient began to convulse. Magic sparked off his skin and she was too afraid to introduce more magic into the mix. She threw herself bodily forward to hold him steady, but despite his petite size, he was surprisingly strong. She was almost flung off when suddenly there was someone there helping her. She backed off as a much larger and heavier body took her place.

"Mr. Weasley! I thought I told you he wasn't up for visitors!"

"Good thing I didn't listen, isn't it," he answered shortly, most of his attention on his best friend.

Blood was gushing from Harry's nose. Poppy reached forward to pinch it closed, hoping to help the blood clot. The attack stopped as quickly as it had started. Weasley backed up, out of breath from his exertions. They exchanged startled glances.

"Has this happened before," she demanded, slightly out of breath.

"Once," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "But not this bad. Right before we brought in Hermione."

Poppy frowned and began casting spells. "It seems he's stable for now. He's unconscious. Probably will stay that way for a while. I'll have to do some more thorough testing later." She eyed the teen shifting sheepishly next to her. "Watch him, Mr. Weasley. I have an errand to run, but I will be back shortly. Do not let him move from this bed. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Weasley answered with a firm nod. "I'll take care of him."

Her eyes narrowed, but then she huffed, exhausted. "See that you do. I'll be back."

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort sat motionless, magic making tight rotations as his anticipation built. He'd felt something along the bond he shared with Potter ten minutes prior and knew he was coming. He'd dismissed his Death Eaters and now waited. It didn't take long. The doors to his throne room blew open with violent force, the crash as the heavy wood hit the walls deafening.

Potter wore clothes that looked hastily pulled on. He was missing his glasses and his eyes were wild with pure unadulterated fury. The teen's fingers were stiff, as if wanting to claw into Voldemort, even as his arms swung loose, ready for battle. There was no wand in sight.

Voldemort watched, only his eyes moving, as the teen stalked forward. Potter moved with fluid grace on the balls of his feet. Magic, invisible and silent, nevertheless _burned_ around him. A hungry smile shaded Voldemort's expression. This was the boy he'd marked. This was the body he'd owned for months.

"_Monster,"_ Potter hissed, unknowingly slipping into Parseltongue.

Voldemort's fingers twitched, hungry for that magic and hatred. _"Harry, what a pleasant surprise,"_ he answered in kind.

Potter took a slow step forward and then another. He was a mere fifteen feet from the throne now. The torches along the walls flared, and the extra light wreathed his shoulders. "Do you want me for an enemy? Do you want the truce between the magical forces to break? Because I _will_ fight you. If you continue down this path, I will destroy us all and be _glad_."

Voldemort stood smoothly so that he could look even further down on the insolent, powerful boy. "You always were presumptuous, Harry. Your threats don't frighten me."

The boy slashed out with his hand, and Nagini thrashed, beginning to burn. Voldemort screamed, his magic snapping out to disperse the spell and protect his pet. The great snake went limp, still smoking. Furious, he whipped his eyes back around to Potter. Green eyes glared acidicly back at him. Voldemort stalked forward. The shadows in the room surged and the torches guttered, going out completely, plunging them in darkness. Another surge of magic and a dull bluish glow made it just possible to see. Voldemort towered over Potter, but the boy didn't flinch back or seem disturbed by the change in the atmosphere.

"I don't care if you torture your followers into gibbering wrecks. They are adults and can make their own decisions," the teen growled in a low, furious voice. "But attacking those under my personal protection," his voice grew steadily louder, "ripping half of Severus' life away from him, fucking with Susan Bones and Hermione, abusing Draco!" Harry shoved him hard in the chest, surprising Voldemort enough to take a step back. "Cruel, sick games, all of them! Killing _babies_, Tom? That's just _pathetic_. And I will stop at nothing, NOTHING," he bellowed, "to destroy you if you cross that line again."

The fires flared again, pushing at the dark shadows in the corners of the room. Voldemort stared down at his adversary, simmering with rage, but also thinking, calculating, plotting. Potter was powerful. There was no denying that. He'd decided long ago not to set himself in opposition to the teen. He would make Harry his. That meant he had to at least appear to capitulate to the brat's demands. Besides, it was clear who had the real power in the room. Even Potter had admitted the best he could hope for was to destroy them both. The best Voldemort could hope for was complete power over the world and Harry, himself. And Voldemort always played to win.

His hand snapped out and grasped Potter's chin in a firm, unrelenting grasp. The teen narrowed his eyes, but he didn't try to escape. Smart boy. He smiled coldly. "Save your temper and your tantrums. You want something from me; offer me something in return."

"What do you want," Potter demanded, struggling to match his cold tone.

Voldemort leaned forward until he was close enough to breathe in the boy's panting breaths. "A debt. To call on in the future. In exchange for my vow to refrain from harming the unborn." Potter was shaking faintly. He could feel it through his finger tips and his smile widened. "Is it a deal, Harry?"

"You aren't to hurt them after they're born, either."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and tightened his grasp. He'd leave bruises. "Don't push me, boy."

"You have to protect them until they reach schooling age," the teen demanded. "And I'll owe you _one_ debt."

"Two debts. Immunity before they're born and until school age," he countered.

There was a pause, and then Harry gave in, as Voldemort knew he would. It was the only choice.

"Deal."

Voldemort's smile widened, sharp and dangerous, as their magic spiked, acknowledging the transaction. His surge of victory faltered, however, as the boy suddenly went limp.

Reflexively, he wrapped an arm across the teen's lower back to keep him on his feet and pulled him close to his chest. His eyes ran sharply over Potter's body, noticing the tale-tell signs of the Cruciatus. Someone had tortured him. Rather thoroughly. Voldemort snarled and sent out a powerful summons as he lifted the light body into his arms. He returned to the dais and sat, Potter limp across his lap, his head and legs hanging over the sides of his throne. Nagini still lay injured.

In minutes, his Death Eaters stood waiting for instructions, all in their places except for Lucius and Severus. His eyes swept the room, his fury clear as his power filled the room, piercing through their marks and invading their magic. The weakest flinched, but he was proud to see the majority stood stoic and silent under the assault.

"I thought I made it clear, but perhaps I did not," he began, voice dangerously low. His hand fisted possessively in Potter's hair as he tilted the boy's face to the crowd. His other hand wrapped intimately around the boy's wrist, subtly monitoring his heartbeats. "Harry Potter is _mine_. Caiden, what do you see?"

"He's been tortured, my Lord," the elder man answered easily.

"_Damaged,"_ Voldemort corrected viciously, eyes narrowed into slits. "Sebastian, find out who did this. It took place within Hogwarts."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian Nott answered.

"Walden," he continued, "use your knowledge of creatures to heal my Nagini."

McNair nodded with a quiet, "Yes, my Lord."

His wife was still recovering at home, but Voldemort knew he wouldn't sabotage his mission in some kind of act of vengeance. He was a Slytherin. McNair knew better that to strike out so obviously at someone who could inflict worse damage in return. He let his eyes move on to the next minion.

"Rabastan, return Potter to the school. Be sure no more added damage occurs."

"Yes, my Lord."

"_Go,"_ Voldemort barked out furiously and the Death Eaters Dissapparated almost instantly. All except Rabastan, who moved forward to collect Potter's unconscious body. "Levitate him," Voldemort ordered coldly. He didn't want anyone else touching the teen.

Rabastan bowed his head and did as he was commanded.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, but you can't rush a good story. I'm also tied up trying to make a Halloween chapter for BSoP. So I'll cross my fingers for you guys. That would be really cool, no? As for this story, I'm in love with it, so never fear, it will continue. I just have to figure out the order of the next few plot points I want to hit. So, review if you can. I love them, and they really keeps me going at times.


	16. Farewell

**Farewell**

Ron lay stiff as a board, unable to move an inch, unable to even blink. Being Petrified was bad enough for a few seconds during dueling practice, but it grew so, so much worse the longer you were under the spell. Claustrophobia closed in around him and had he been able to move his chest, he would have been panting and drenched in sweat. Almost hysterically, he thought back to first year when they'd Petrified Neville before going after the Sorcerer's stone. Neville had been stuck like that for almost six hours. He had no idea how Neville had come out of it sane. Ron already felt like he was going bonkers.

At first, it seemed the Petrificus Curse was bad because it rendered him physically helpless, but as bad as that was the true problem was being locked inside with his thoughts. There was nothing to distract him. No pacing or frenetic activity to steady him. Round and round, circling, confused, his thoughts grew louder and louder. From Neville to Hermione, to school and the war, he thought and thought, and it always came back to Harry.

Harry who had begun to stir after an hour of his seizure or whatever. Harry who had Petrified him when Ron refused to help him leave the infirmary. But what had Harry expected? He wouldn't tell him where he was going or why, just that he needed to leave, that it was important. Ron had asked if it had to do with the memories Dumbledore had left him, and Harry had said no. So what was he supposed to do? Pomfrey had made it clear Harry had to stay for more tests, that something could be really wrong with Harry.

Ron had been a bad friend in fourth year, and he'd been a bad one this year, too. While Harry and Hermione were preparing and worrying about the war, he'd been with Lavender or wrapped up in Quidditch. He had so much to make up for, and he'd only been trying to do that by stopping Harry. But instead he'd been Petrified and Harry had gone off alone, sick and injured.

Hermione was going to kill him.

"Mr. Weasley!"

The spell released him, and he flailed his limbs, surprised by how strange if felt to be able to move. It took some help from the mediwitch, but they got him up on his feet and sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. Ron stared up at her with a sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey."

The fearsome woman put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "Don't hello me! Where is Mr. Potter? What happened to you?"

"I…"

Before Ron could finish his explanation, lame as it was, the infirmary doors opened and a strange man walked in, levitating Harry behind him. Ron's mouth dropped open in shock as Pomfrey practically leapt forward and sent Harry's limp body into the nearest bed.

"What happened?"

"I was finishing a meeting at the Hog's Head when I stumbled upon Mr. Potter here. He was lying unconscious in an alley by the pub. I thought it best if I brought him here on my own instead of causing a fuss," the man answered. He had dark, straight brown hair to his shoulders and a matching beard that was cut close to his jaw. His face was tired, but his dark eyes were intelligent. Ron eyed him suspiciously as he moved to stand at Harry's bedside.

"Thank you, Mr. Lestrange. I'm sure Mr. Potter will appreciate your discretion."

Ron's eyes narrowed to slits. Lestrange... He'd grown up hearing the name Lestrange, and it wasn't happy talk either. The Lestrange brothers had been a part of the group of Death Eaters that had killed his Uncles. Not that he remembered his Uncles, but his mother still cried over them sometimes.

Lestrange gave a half bow. "I will leave him in your capable hands, then, Madam."

Pomfrey didn't stop him as he turned and left as quickly as he'd come.

Ron shot the witch an incredulous look. "You're just going to let him go? He could have done something to Harry!"

"If he did, I'll soon find out. We can always question him later," she snapped back at him. "Right now I need to check on Mr. Potter and Lestrange would only be in the way. As are you, as a matter of fact."

"I'm not leaving," Ron told her flatly, crossing his arms. He had a bone to pick with his friend, and he wasn't going anywhere until he was heard. Not to mention the fact that someone needed to guard Harry while a _Death Eater_ was roaming the school.

"Very well. At least go sit on another bed. I need room," Pomfrey murmured distractedly. Her attention was already focused on Harry, her wand weaving and swirling over his too still body.

Ron watched the frown on her face deepen and wished Hermione was there. She'd know what to do about all this. She'd know what the heck was going on. Everything was so confusing right now, and Ron couldn't seem to do anything right. He stared at his unconscious friend. _You'd better get well, Harry, so I can pop you one for leaving me behind!_

**xXxXxXx**

Harry woke to the sound of an argument.

"…important!"

"I'm well aware how many people cared for the Headmaster, young man!"

"Harry wouldn't want to miss it! You have to understand!"

"I want to go," Harry spoke up as he realized they were debating Dumbledore's funeral. "What time is it?"

His voice was rougher than he expected, his throat was sore as hell. He cracked open his eyes to find two blurry figures looking down at him from either side of his bed. One with silvery gray hair, the other with bright red. Pomfrey, Ron. He offered a wan smile to his friend.

"You mad at me?"

"You bet your arse I'm mad," Ron answered with a totally sincere scowl.

Harry sighed and reached for his glasses. He wondered why Ron was defending his right to go to the funeral if he was so mad, and he felt something warm him at the thought that, mad or not, Ron wasn't going anywhere. Ron still had his back.

Pomfrey immediately laid into him. "Mr. Potter, you are unwell. You were hardly healed after the attack and then you suffered some sort of fit. You caused yourself a setback in recovery, as well as contracted a magic-resistant virus due to your weakened immune system. You need to be in bed resting!"

Harry accepted the glass of water Ron handed him and tried to ignore the faint trembling in his hands as he sipped at it. When he felt like his throat was no longer on fire, instead banked to a dull burn, he set the glass aside and met the mediwitch's eyes. "Dumbledore died in front of me. I need to go to his funeral. I won't get another chance to say goodbye, but I can always come back to bed and rest tomorrow."

She huffed, arms crossing defensively across her chest. "Very well. But I want you back here immediately, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered, knowing he wouldn't be back unless someone dragged him.

As if sensing this, she turned her attention to the tall redhead. "You bring him back as soon as the funeral is over, Mr. Weasley. No delays."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron answered quickly.

Harry sighed and pushed the blankets off his legs. There would be no avoiding the infirmary now. He swayed as he finally pushed up on his feet, but the lightheadedness passed quickly and he waved off both Pomfrey and his friend. "Can I have my clothes?"

Pomfrey scowled. "If you're well enough to go the funeral, you're well enough to get dressed on your own." With that, she stomped away and disappeared into her office.

Ron shook his head and handed over Harry's pants, shirt, and sweater.

"Thank you."

Ron said nothing in response, and with a sigh, Harry got dressed slowly. He knew it wouldn't take long before his friend started in, so he enjoyed the brief calm while it lasted.

"What happened to you yesterday? Where did you go?"

Harry had no idea what to say. Definitely not the truth. How would he explain the situation? The fact that he could march right up to the Dark Lord and make demands and bargains. That he knew the location of the Dark Lord's headquarters. It wouldn't make sense without first explaining the switch, and Harry wasn't ready to talk about that.

"How'd I get back here," he asked instead.

Ron glared at him, recognizing the evasion. "One of the Lestrange brothers, don't know which one, walked right in with you. Said he found you unconscious in an alley by the Hog's Head."

"Oh."

"Oh?" Ron practically had steam coming out his ears. "That's all you got to say? _Oh?_ Harry, what were you thinking? Where did you go? What was so Merlin be-damned important that you _cursed_ me for it?"

"Please, Ron. I just want to say goodbye to Dumbledore. I… I don't want to talk about it right now, but I don't want to lie to you about where I went either. Maybe later, okay? I'm fine, everything worked out. Let's just drop it for now."

Ron grabbed his arm and shook him hard. "That's not good enough, but I guess it'll have to be, huh? It's not liked you're giving me much choice here."

Harry ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I really am. I just… I can't explain everything right now. I can't."

"Do you even care how worried I was? Do you care what it was like being Petrified like that for over an hour," Ron demanded hotly.

"Yes! I care! And I'm sorry! But I had no _choice_, Ron! I _had_ to go!"

Ron flung his hands up in disgust. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just go to the bloody funeral."

Harry rubbed at his face and took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. They walked side-by-side, in silence. Harry hated what he was putting his friend through, but it wasn't like he could control any of this. If he was able, he'd make it all go away in a heartbeat, but he couldn't. It was a depressing realization. That he would always be separated from his friends in some measure because of what he'd experienced, because of his responsibilities. It didn't help his mood to remember he owed the Dark Lord two bloody debts. Harry's fists clenched, hatred churning his stomach. He pushed that away, too.

As they stepped outside, Harry took in the large crowd, all with unlit candles in their hands. There were hundreds of people, and they were here to remember and honor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Light Lord. Harry's grief almost felt like a living thing inside him, and it grew unbearably stronger now that he allowed it to the surface.

Harry pushed his way through the crowd with Ron's help. He wanted to be closer to the tomb. Flitwick and McGonagall had constructed it halfway around the lake, boarded on one side by the Forbidden forest and Hogsmeade Road a hundred yards off on the other. It was just outside the castle's wards so that people could pay their respects easily whenever they needed without disturbing the school.

The closer they got, the thicker the crowd became, but as soon as they saw who was trying to pass, they made room for him. Harry blushed, but refused to duck his head. He was here for Dumbledore. He didn't care about anyone else. When they finally reached the front, Harry's eyes were captured by the mausoleum. It was the first time he'd seen it.

It was small and square, made from light gray stone. Two elegant pillars stood on either side of the door, supporting the almost Grecian style roof. Carvings of the four House symbols and mascots adorned the boarders of the doorway. As beautiful as it was, Harry's eyes were pulled inside before he could really appreciate the artwork.

The small space was flooded with soft white light. Dumbledore's body lay against the back wall on a golden slab. He wore a flowing white robe, signifying his alliance to the Light and also that his slate had been wiped clean as he starts his new journey beyond death. The profile of his face was gentle, peaceful. His hands were folded across his stomach, his beard gleaming clean and brushed as it wound its way past his waist. It was a magnificent image, but it made Harry frown.

Dumbledore would have hated it. He'd always worn such bright colors in life, and his expressions had always reflected that vibrancy. It was so foreign to see him laying there so elegant and still, head to toe in white. It was almost like a stranger lay there, not the Dumbledore he knew and loved.

Harry's eyes teared up. He felt Ron lean closer to him and grabbed firmly for his friend's hand as he turned his attention to McGonagall. She walked over and stepped up onto a raised platform, casting a spell so that everyone would be able to hear her words. The platform had been erected next to the stone tomb. Her traditional bun was missing. Her light brown hair, streaked with gray, lay in a long braid down her back. She wore dark red robes, probably to acknowledge her House as well as Dumbledore's, but all it did was remind Harry of fresh spilt blood. Which was odd. There'd been no blood when Dumbledore had died. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her voice was steady.

"Today we honor the death of an honorable man. A man who dedicated his life to the betterment of the world and our children…"

Harry's eyes drifted back to Dumbledore's body. Suddenly he was there again. On the tower. Heart thumping hard against his chest, overwhelmingly grateful to be back at Hogwarts, fearful of what he'd find inside. Then the green light. Paralyzed with horror as _Severus_ tried to strike him down with such hatred twisting his features. The weight of Dumbledore's lifeless body in his arms; the unmistakable, unforgettable look of emptiness staring back at him through dead eyes.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

He was shaking. Could hardly feel Ron's hand in his or hear his voice as he stared wide-eyed into the past.

"Hey. It's okay."

An arm wrapped around his shoulders. Harry leaned into the half-embrace, desperate for warmth, for an anchor. He scrabbled mentally for self-control. He was in public. He couldn't afford to show weakness. But all his strength had fled and he stood there gasping, floundering, as reality hit him square in the face. Dumbledore was gone. And Severus. And Hermione. Everything was falling apart. _Harry_ was falling apart.

**O**

Lucius watched through cold eyes as Weasley led Potter discretely off into the forest. The boy had obviously grown distraught. _Good_. He wanted to crush the boy for what he'd done to Draco, but his Lord had made it clear the boy was His alone. And Lucius had learned his lesson. He knew better than to doubt the Dark Lord ever again.

Yes. Lucius' punishment had been deserved, but it had been brutal. Even now he was aware he wasn't all right in the head. He'd been changed, forged into something more and less than he'd been. But he'd also been rewarded with prestige. Of the wives chosen to be punished, only Narcissa had been granted the chance to prove herself. And she had. She'd endured and managed to keep their child. The pregnancy would be difficult, she'd be bedridden until the birth, but they'd have their baby. Babies, in fact. The healer had informed them just yesterday. Twins. Twins were magical, a blessing beyond expectation. There hadn't been twins for three generations in the Malfoy family.

Speaking of children, his eyes scanned the crowd, enhanced with a Far-Seeing Spell. There, by the castle, not far from the entrance doors, stood his eldest. Draco. He'd been appalled when Narcissa informed him what had befallen Draco at the hands of Potter. At first, he couldn't wrap his mind around the Golden Boy being capable of what had been described. He'd been further shocked that Draco had initially courted it. Lucius still had doubts, surely Narcissa was exaggerating, but the change he now saw in his son confirmed all he'd been told was the truth.

Draco stood straight, dark circles under his steely eyes. He stood absolutely still, not even a hint of his usual fidgeting. Better yet his expression was carefully and completely blank. A trick his over-emotional son had never been able to master before. As much as he hurt for what his son had endured, it also made him proud. Draco had broken, but he was now putting himself back together, stronger than ever before.

Standing not far from his son was another shocking oddity. Severus Snape, his oftentimes best friend and biggest rival, was seventeen once again, free from the Dark Mark, exiled from their Lord's side. It was pleasing beyond anything Lucius could have ever hoped for. On the surface, it seemed like a gift, being returned to youth, but that was an illusion. In truth, Severus had been stripped of all his experience and knowledge. He'd been returned to a more helpless and vulnerable state in dangerous times. Lucius had wondered at first why the Dark Lord hadn't simply killed Severus, but this was infinitely more cruel and delicious.

Lucius had a lifetime of interpreting Severus. His cunning friend had only gotten more difficult to read as he grew older. Reading his seventeen year old visage was as easy as a Summoning Charm. Severus was tense, anxious, and upset. The dark eyes, the slight frown, the tense shoulders, the way he hid behind his bangs… Lucius wanted to laugh. Always the outsider, always alone, all of that was enhanced by his displacement. Such a delicate torment, really. The Dark Lord truly was masterful.

McGonagall was finishing her little speech and others took her place, each disclaiming Dumbledore's virtues, his victories, his dreams. Lucius had to admit the man had been great, a Light Lord like none other in the last few centuries. They'd been enemies, but there'd also been respect between them. Lucius had fenced with the crafty old man all of his adult life. Things would certainly be interesting as the world jockeyed to fill the large hole the man's death had caused. The Light would be confused and out of sorts for months. He smiled faintly. Yes, things were going extremely well, indeed.

He moved to the edge of the crowd and made his way toward the castle and his son. It took him almost half an hour, but it was well worth it. Draco didn't sense his presence until it was too late. Lucius stepped up to his side, wand gently pressing into the boy's ribs.

"Son."

"Father."

Lucius smiled coldly. "What are your plans, son? You cannot hide behind Hogwarts' walls forever."

"Better than groveling on my knees," Draco retorted, eyes staring straight ahead.

"Oh, but, Draco, I hear you're so good at that," Lucius sneered, hoping to cut deep. To his surprise, his son smiled, sharp and dangerous.

"Hmmm, yes, perhaps, but now I'm standing. Can you say the same, Father?"

Lucius said nothing. He listened to the sermon, his eyes moving over the many people who had tears on their faces. His spell allowed him to zoom in on the mausoleum and he looked on Dumbledore's still, cold body for a minute. He relaxed the spell and turned to look at his son, surprised that he no longer had to look down to reach his eyes. Only a few more inches and they'd be of the same height.

"Be careful, Dragon."

Draco's face softened, a hint of the little boy Lucius remembered peeking through the newly hardened eyes. "You as well, Father."

Lucius nodded. He gently stroked Draco's hair once before moving off. He had much to think about.

**O**

Severus stared at the masses, most genuinely mourning the loss of Dumbledore, some merely here for the gossip. He, himself, wasn't sure why he was here except that it was expected. He didn't want to draw suspicions to himself.

His eyes kept being drawn to the body of the man he apparently had killed. Murdered. And got away with it. Only to be punished by the Dark Lord afterward for unknown reasons.

It was all so _insane_. He'd held only derision for Dumbledore, but he'd never killed before. Would never have thought in a million years that he would kill the Headmaster, a very powerful Light Lord. He didn't feel guilty, but he didn't relish the idea of Dumbledore's death, either. He just felt uncomfortable and out of place.

Movement counter to the natural flow of people caught his attention. Without moving his head or changing his posture, his eyes darted to the side. Lucius. For a split second, Severus stopped breathing. He'd been longing to see his friend since he'd woken in this insane world. Some part of him thought if he saw Lucius, everything would begin to make sense, but the reality was far different.

This wasn't the Lucius he knew. This man had a wild, bitten down aura. The gracefulness in his movements warned of danger, so did the coldness in the depths of his eyes. And it wasn't a mask. It was clear there was no need for him to wear one. Severus shivered, struggling to reconcile this man with the eighteen-year-old boy he'd been with a mere two weeks ago.

He watched as father and son stood next to each other, obviously engaging in a verbal battle of some kind. The contrast was striking. Both were broken in some indefinable way, but where Lucius was worn down to a dangerous emptiness, Draco was all sharp edges. Severus realized he'd have to be wary of either Malfoy. Both were capable of doing serious damage, and both would be unpredictable in their current state. More than that, Severus realized he was truly alone.

His last hope disappeared before he even realized it'd been there to begin with. There was no going back. Nothing would ever be the same again. Worse, in less than an hour, he'd be questioned by the Ministry. Chilled, feeling small and hating it, Severus wrapped his arms around his chest and stared dully as the funeral slowly came to an end.

**O**

After pulling himself together, he and Ron returned to the funeral. McGonagall was talking again. She had tears on her cheeks. The students around the podium were holding to each other, many crying. Harry lifted his chin, his eyes dry and sore. Ron was a strong reassuring presence at his side. Together they lifted their wands. All those affiliated with the Light or who remained Neutral did so as well. Only a few in the crowd were Dark, and they stood solemn, bearing witness.

"_Infinitium memoris,"_ McGonagall intoned.

White light ignited the tip of her wand, a growing star that shot through the air, soon joined by a hundred more as the crowd echoed her.

"_Infinitium memoris,"_ Harry croaked, putting all his heart into the spell. All his respect, gratitude, love, as well as his frustration, grief, and fear.

With his eyes closed, his head tipped back, he didn't see the crowd turn to look at him, wide-eyed. Didn't see the ball of pure light, crackle and sparkle as it slowly rose to join the pulsing stars already hovering over the mausoleum. Didn't see how those stars began to orbit the small sun of pure magic Harry had created.

**O**

Severus stared along with everyone else. He'd never seen anything like it. Potter stood at the edge of the trees like some kind of forest spirit. His hair was wild and his eyes a glittering green as he looked heavenward, his expression soft and infused with honest grief. Power pulsed from his slight form as he lifted his wand and closed his eyes.

A bright ball of light the size of a watermelon lifted gracefully into the air. The dozens of memory stars already pulsing in the sky circled Potter's, creating constellations never before seen on earth. Severus watched the shapes and figures fade and grow in the swirling pattern. It was beautiful, powerful, miraculous. Magic as magic was meant to be. Wild and mysterious, not tamed by words and gestures.

Slowly, the stars joined together and settled at the four points of the mausoleum roof. They'd remain lit for a year and a day, reminding the world of the passing of their loved one, lighting the way for those to say their final goodbyes before the time of mourning officially came to an end. But Potter's did not join the others. It settled on the roof directly above the door, a beacon that never wavered.

Severus tore his eyes from the sight to see Potter finally lowering his wand. He saw the way the teen's expression closed as he noticed everyone's attention was on him. Instead of running back into the woods, he acknowledged the stares calmly. Severus was a master of body language. He looked intently for signs that Potter was soaking it up, encouraging it, but he could find none.

This Potter simply stared back, the way one would look at a strange dog. Not engaging but not threatening, just watching. The redhead at Potter's side gently clasped the teen's arm. Severus watched, intrigued, as Potter nodded and turned. They walked calmly back into the forest and disappeared from sight.

This Potter took direction. This Potter had no arrogance. This Potter was Lord-level, not some insignificant bully whose destiny was to die before his twenty-first birthday. No, this Potter was destined for great things. The Dark Lord wanted him to watch the things going on at Hogwarts. Severus now suspected that meant watching Potter, who was obviously at the center of things. A day ago that would have annoyed him, his hatred for all things Potter undeniable, but now… Now he was thinking it might be interesting to keep an eye on the teen.

Harry Potter was not James. Severus knew that, but emotionally he'd seen a Potter and equated them. He had now officially separated the two images. Harry Potter wasn't like anyone else he'd ever met. Mission from the Dark Lord or no, Severus would definitely be keeping an eye on him.

The crowd lifted their candles.

"Albus Dumbledore, we will remember you."

It was said as a chorus, the many speaking as one, which was perhaps Dumbledore's true gift to those who would miss him. The candle wicks lit simultaneously. Heads bowed, the crowd slowly began to disburse. The majority made their way up Hogsmeade Road. Dusk was falling, and Severus watched the line of small lights travel into the dark. For a split second, he wished he had a candle to burn as well, to place in his window in acknowledgement of the Headmaster's passing.

"Albus Dumbledore…" he murmured. He lifted his eyes to the steady ball of light Potter had created. The teen had loved the old man, that was clear. No matter how much Severus hated the Headmaster's prejudice, Dumbledore had taught him a lot. His death had taught him more. "I will remember you," he said softly.

"Severus Snape. Could you step this way?"

Severus turned. Ice settled in his stomach as he took in the three intimidating men. They were Aurors. Severus had expected lawyers or wizards from the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't been expecting Aurors. The leader gestured toward the castle doors. Severus eyed him but knew if he ran he'd get nowhere fast. Bitterness almost choked him. Why hadn't he expected this?

Steeling himself, trying to calm his heart, he lifted his chin and marched into the school. The Aurors followed on his heels and directed him to an empty classroom on the first floor. Severus stood stoic and silent as two of the men stood on either side of the now warded and locked door. He didn't flinch as the lead Auror shoved him into a chair and loomed above him.

"My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. I'm here to ask you a few questions. Your answers will determine what will be done with you regarding your situation." The man flashed him a chilling smile, his eyes equally cold. "Why don't you state your name and age to start with."

Severus's palms grew slick with sweat, even as he kept his expression blank. There would be no winning this. No matter how truthful or cooperative. This was going to hurt. Thankfully he knew how to cope with this. Years growing up at his father's hands had taught him well. A sneer appeared on his face even as he pulled his defenses closed around him.

**O**

Harry was only mildly surprised when the new Minister met them in the forest when they were halfway back to the school. Unconsciously he straightened, pulling away from Ron's supportive hold, and wiped his face with his sweater sleeve. The Minister observed him with a friendly expression, but Harry knew better than to fall for that. This whip-thin man was dangerous and intelligent, despite the innocuous impression he gave off.

"Mr. Potter, I'm truly sorry for intruding on your grief, but I'd like to take this opportunity to speak to you if I may."

Harry pondered his options. He could claim he wasn't able to speak, which would make him look like a weak, over-emotional child as well as give proof that he was indeed as close to Dumbledore as rumors said, or he could agree to talk. This would make Harry appear more steady, but it would also cast doubt on the level of intimacy between him and the Headmaster. Harry decided to go with this last. It would only benefit him if he kept just how much he'd been taught by Dumbledore a secret for now. Sometimes it paid to be underestimated, as Harry well knew.

"Of course, Minister. I know how busy you must be," he answered, voice rough due to his sore throat and previous tears. He had to resist the urge to cough.

Scrimegeour smiled. "I wondered if you knew Dumbledore had elected you to lead the Order of the Phoenix if he were to be unable. It is a heady responsibility, and I wanted you to know you have the Ministry's support. If there is anything you need assistance with, I would do my best to help."

Ron stiffened beside him, even as Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. "Thank you, but I think things are as well as they can be for right now."

Scrimegeour nodded affably, smile still in place. "Yes. Just keep it in mind." He looked off toward the castle as he put his hands in his pockets. "Come Monday I believe classes will resume."

"Yes. I think so," Harry affirmed, watching the Minister carefully.

"This war is not going well, Mr. Potter. We need to make sure there are as many capable people ready to defend our world as possible. Unfortunately, that means we need to prepare our children. I've spoken with the Headmistress. She is allowing Aurors to teach a training course after hours and during the weekends."

Harry abruptly realized that after the Dursley's went to jail for child abuse, Dumbledore had become his legal guardian. Now he was technically orphaned once more. He was still a minor. "I would really like to join that program, sir," he said even as he realized the Minister was maneuvering him purposefully toward a specific goal.

Scrimegeour nodded. "Yes. I thought you would. Regrettably, you need a parent's permission if you are underage."

Harry merely waited. It didn't need to be said that he didn't have parents. That was beyond obvious.

"If I may make a recommendation…"

"Please," Harry requested politely, hiding his clenched fist at his side. He _hated_ to be manipulated.

"You should file for emancipation." The Minister rubbed at his mouth thoughtfully. "I can understand how frustrating this probably is. If you'd like, I will put a rush on your petition so you shouldn't miss much time. The ruling should come through by the end of next week."

"Thank you, sir. That would be wonderful." Harry would have to look up emancipation and the legal ramifications of such an action later.

Scrimegeour beamed, golden eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Wonderful. I'll owl you the forms you'll need to fill out, as well as the date of your interview with Child Services."

"Um, sir?" Ron stepped forward. "Can I have a permission form for the Auror training?"

The Minister stared at the teen for a second, making Harry frown. He didn't want his friends to be used, and it looked like the man was sizing him up. Harry coughed wetly, purposefully breaking Scrimegeour concentration. The Minister offered another friendly smile, exuding sympathy and understanding.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. Permission forms were sent to the families of all upperclassmen, and your parents declined."

Ron scowled, his face flushing red. Surprisingly, when he spoke again, his voice was flat and quiet. "I'd like another form in case they change their mind."

"Well, I just happen to have a copy. Looks like you're in luck." Scrimegeour passed over the scroll with a wink.

Ron accepted with a muffled thank you.

"Good luck, gentlemen. Again, I'm sorry for your loss. Dumbledore was a great man and will be missed by all."

"Not all," Harry countered dryly, voice scratchy and hoarse. He would lose it completely soon.

Scrimegeour tipped his head in agreement and wandered off.

Harry sighed and grabbed Ron's arm. "Come on. Pomfrey will kill me if we don't hurry."

Ron grinned and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Yeah. And I have a fire call to make."

Harry smiled fondly up at his friend. He hoped Ron could convince his parents. It would be reassuring to know Ron could defend himself, and besides, they needed all the help they could get in this blasted war.

**Chapter end.**


	17. Argument

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the slow updates!!!! But this chapter is super long and it took me forever to work out the politics of the situation. I SUCK at politics so please keep that in mind and I really worked hard on this chapter. Here's hoping you don't think it's horrible! Lol.

**.**

**Argument**

After escorting Harry to the infirmary, Ron went back to the Tower. He had a lot to think about and an argument to plan. He wasn't surprised that his mother had blocked his joining the Auror training. She had always been protective, especially since his father was still not quite himself after Nagini's attack last year. Voldemort's snake had really done a number on him, and that meant his mum had no one to restrain her fears or make her see reason. So he had to do it himself.

The next morning was Sunday. Most students slept in, so he had to wait until the last Gryffindor was awake. He'd been watching the stairs carefully, and once he was sure that the last had come down to the common room, he stood and cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. Immediately, he flushed a deep red and wondered how Harry could stand it, but he wasn't about to back down now.

"I need to make an important fire-call to my family. I shouldn't be more than an hour."

A few of his friends, like Neville and Dean, exchanged knowing glances. Others had no idea why he was asking for the common room, but nodded without question and began to file out. Ron gave a stiff smile as Neville whispered 'good luck' when he walked past. Then the room was empty. Ron took a deep breath and moved to the fireplace. Since it was January, it was already lit. All he had to do was take up the floo powder and make his call. He glared at his shaking hand as if it had betrayed him, but regardless the powder ignited in the fire, making it burn a magical green.

"The Weasley Burrow!"

There was a crackle that signaled a successful connection. Ron took a deep breath and knelt, placing his head in the flames.

"Mum! You home?" He really hoped she was. He didn't want to go through this a second time.

"Ron?" Her voice came from the kitchen and soon enough she stepped into the sitting room. She was drying her hands on a towel, a worried expression on her face. "Has something happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, mum. I need to talk to you."

He watched as she pulled up a stool to sit by the fire. "What is it? Is Ginny okay?"

"Mum, we're all fine. I need you to listen to me."

"I'm listening," she said stiffly, not appreciating his tone, most likely.

"It's about the war."

"Ron…"

"Listen, please," he cut her off.

She huffed, but fell silent, a mighty glare on her face.

"We are at war, Mum. My friends and family are going to fight in the war. And I'm going to fight in the war. Because I believe in it. To protect everyone. To protect you."

"Ronald, you are still sixteen years old. You can't possibly…"

"Mum! I'm still sixteen, yes. For two and a half more months. I'm seventeen in March, Mum, and you can't stop me. I'm going to do this. I'm sorry it scares you, but it's something I have to do."

She jumped to her feet, face red with fury. "Don't threaten me, Ronald! You are young. You don't know what you're talking about. I know what it feels like to sacrifice for a war. I lost my only siblings. I almost lost my husband of almost forty years! It's not something I want for you, and if you were smart you'd listen to me instead of arguing!"

"Mum, please. I'm going to do this with or without your approval, but it will be harder without your help. Everything always is. If you don't help me, then I will start two months later than my fellow trainees." He wisely didn't use the word soldiers. "I won't be as skilled to protect myself. I need to start training now, with the others. It will keep me safer. You can see that, can't you, Mum?"

"You may think you want to do this, but it's dangerous! You could _die_, Ronald! Maybe by March, you'll change your mind and be glad you didn't do this." She was crying now. "I don't want to lose all my children to this war! I need to know you and Ginny will be safe. Is that such a horrible thing for a mother to ask of her child?"

"No, Mum, but I can't do that. I'm sorry, but I believe in this. I want this. Not for glory. Not to be a hero. It's just something I know I'm supposed to do. My friends will stand beside me, and we'll do our best to protect each other. I love you, but ever since I was eleven, I've been willing to fight this war. I've done dangerous things before. And I'm going to join this war. I'm going to fight, but I don't want to die. That's why I'm going to do my best in training. I need that training, Mum."

"No. And that's final," she snapped, breathing hard, hands shaking in her lap.

"If you want to keep me safe, you need to let me protect myself!" Ron's temper finally exploded. "You're being irrational because you're scared! You're going to get me killed! Because I'm not going to stop! Two months and I'm of age, and I'll never be able to come home. Because you couldn't respect my decision. And I'm going to fight in the war and be less prepared! Two months, Mum! You willing to do this over two months?"

"Don't take that tone with me, young man!" She was practically quaking with rage.

"Mum! Please, be rational," he begged her. "I'm going to be careful. I'm not going to be reckless. And maybe after I experience the training, I'll decide it's not for me. Come on, Mum. I'm not going to get hurt. I'm not going to go out fighting tomorrow. It'll be okay."

Stifling a sob, she crossed her arms. "Fine! Fine, Ronald! You can do the training! But you're going to regret this! Mark my words!"

"We'll see," he answered doubtfully and passed through the permission form.

She scowled at it like it was dragon dung on her rug, but she picked it up and shakily signed her name. She shoved it back through the fire with a violent push.

"Thanks, Mum," Ron said gently. "This is the right thing to do, and you're letting me protect myself."

"Just go, Ron. I'll see you soon."

He nodded. "Love you." And he took his head out of the fire.

He stared at the scroll in his hand and slowly began to grin. He'd done it! Triumphant, he practically ran the whole way to the Owlery. He picked the fastest looking owl and tied the form to its leg. "To the Ministry, Head Auror's office."

The owl hooted in acknowledgement and flew out the window.

Ron watched with a big smile until it was out of sight.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry woke abruptly as McGonagall came storming into the infirmary. He snatched his glasses off the night stand and went cold at the sight of Severus being laid limply in the bed closest to the door.

"Merlin's blood, what happened?" Pomfrey raced to the young man's side, wand already working.

McGonagall stood rigid, her eyes on Severus' face. "I failed him."

"Minerva…" Pomfrey looked sick over whatever her spells were telling her.

Harry held his breath, desperate to hear more.

"He was to be interviewed by the Ministry after the funeral. I didn't give it much thought."

"Interviewed? He was _interrogated!"_ Pomfrey's glare was surprisingly vicious.

Harry bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Interrogated?

"Thirty minutes ago, Head Auror Shacklebolt came to my office and informed me they were done. I had no idea where to even look for him," McGonagall admitted softly. "The third year Hufflepuffs found him in their classroom."

"He should recover," Pomfrey announced as she stepped back and summoned two potions. Harry took a deep breath in relief at the news.

"Tell me," McGonagall demanded.

"It's Monday. They were _investigating_ for almost forty-eight hours and certainly didn't care about his basic needs. He's severely dehydrated, has traces of Veritaserum in his system, and his waste functions were magically sealed with a spell. If you hadn't brought him when you did, his bladder would have burst, needing surgery to repair. Fortunately, I will be able to drain the fluid with a spell, and a potion will heal the over-stretched muscles. He has a low grade fever and is obviously beyond exhausted. I have no way of knowing the psychological damage done until he regains consciousness."

Harry snapped. He stood and summoned his clothes. The abrupt movement startled the women. McGonagall's eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Potter…"

"I need to speak to you in your office, please," Harry interrupted. "Also, I'm calling a meeting of the Order tonight at headquarters, seven o'clock." He said this last to inform Pomfrey, who was a member.

Pomfrey's mouth fell open in shock. McGonagall looked equally surprised, but she managed to choke out a tight, "Excuse me?"

"I'm aware Dumbledore appointed me Leader of the Order," he answered the Headmistress. "I'm naming you my second-in-command. We can discuss it further in your office."

"Very well," McGonagall answered, still eyeing him.

Harry nodded and began to head for the infirmary doors.

"Where do you think you are going, Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey stepped in his path, hands on her hips, her face red. "I haven't cleared you to leave. You need more rest or that virus will be back."

"I've rested enough. I'll be careful and be sure to take an immune booster every night this week," Harry told her almost gently. His eyes drifted to Severus, who lay behind her. Unconscious, flushed with fever, he looked young and vulnerable, not at all like the powerful man he'd once been. Harry took a deep breath and just barely managed to keep his magic under his skin. His green eyes lifted to the Headmistress, and he gestured to the doors. "Please…"

McGonagall looked confused before she blanked her expression and nodded.

Harry followed her through the school silently. His thoughts raced, but they were focused. He knew what needed to be done, and he was going to do it. First things first, he had to confront McGonagall and see if she would support him as Leader or not. Things will be a lot harder without her approval, so he would have to do all he could to see that he got it.

They still didn't speak as they entered the office. McGonagall took the seat behind the desk that had been Dumbledore's for as long as Harry could remember. Harry sat across from her. He took a deep breath and centered himself the way Severus had taught him, ignoring the Headmistress's observing eyes. He knew better than to rush. He'd speak when he was ready. To do otherwise was to lose this battle before it even began.

"Are you aware of Dumbledore's decision," he asked evenly, green eyes holding hers.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. I even agree that given a few more years, you will make an impressive Phoenix Leader." She looked at him solemnly and folded her hands primly on the desk. "However, I do not believe he meant for you to take control now, if that is your intension."

"It's not ideal, but this is the reality. Dumbledore is gone. He appointed me in his place."

McGonagall frowned deeply. "You were the only logical choice when our mission was to counter the Dark and defeat the Dark Lord. Especially with the prophecy to consider. As you say, Mr. Potter, reality has changed."

"You think the prophecy no longer applies? That I am any less the Chosen One?" Harry shook his head slightly, fingers tapping at the armrests. "I would love for that to be the case, but I don't think so. Neither did Dumbledore, neither does the Dark Lord."

"Are you honestly suggesting you believe yourself capable and ready to lead the Order?"

"Not single-handedly." He straightened his back and met her head on. "Despite my age, I have been in combat. I do have some experience with tactics, as well as leadership. Dumbledore has been training me for years. Also, my magic is strong. I will be Lord-level, if I'm not already. But I'll need support. With your help as my Second, I do believe I can be a good leader if given a chance." He sat forward, expression earnest. "What I don't want is for you to tell me I can't before ever giving me the chance to prove Dumbledore correct."

McGonagall stared back thoughtfully. "Let me explain what exactly you are suggesting you are ready to do." She lifted her fingers to her lips, folding them in front of her face. After a long moment, she spoke. "Centuries ago, there was no Ministry. There was no Neutral magic. You either adhered to the Light or Dark school of wizardry and witchcraft with no other choice between. I cannot fully relate to you the tragedies perpetuated by the constant warfare. I will have to rely on your imagination. Suffice it to say, it came to the point where wizards faced extinction, as we are facing now."

She paused in her tale to call a house elf for some tea. Harry did not rush her. Instead, he used the time to think about what she'd told him so far. He pictured it in his mind. No Ministry. Nothing to hold either side back. That far in the past, wizardkind likely wouldn't even be that concerned about Muggles finding out about magic, so the need for secrecy wouldn't restrain the fighting either. He remembered the great myths and legends, most being tragedies as McGonagall had said, and the fairytales he'd overheard as a child, of magical beings, some good, some bad. Very few of those had happy endings either.

McGonagall poured them each a cup from the silver tea set before she continued. "It was then, in desperation, that the leaders of the Light and Dark, came to a counsel table for the first time in history. They locked themselves away for months, vowing never to come out of deliberation until an answer could be found. In the end, it was decided that the Light and Dark could never agree or compromise, literally. They are opposing forces, after all."

"So they created a third party," Harry said, understanding where this was going. "A Neutral party and each side agreed to adhere to its rules."

"Yes." McGonagall sat and sipped at her tea. She regarded Harry thoughtfully for a long minute. "That was the birth of Hogwarts. The first public magical school."

Harry gaped at her.

"There were four Headmasters, two Dark, two Light. Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff were raised from Light families. Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw were products of the Dark school of thought. They built this school so that magic was taught to children without the indoctrination of either side. As you know, there was some turbulence over the years, but the school was successful and the Neutral party grew more powerful in time as more and more children were raised to believe magic itself is neutral. That Light and Dark are mere belief systems, nothing more. A few decades after Hogwarts was built, the Ministry as we know it was created, and it has only continued to grow."

"But the Light and Dark didn't disappear completely," Harry pointed out.

"No." McGonagall smiled at him. "Of course not. In a sense, the Light and Dark are belief systems, but it is not true that magic is completely Neutral. For many, this is the case, but there are a select few whose magic is essentially Light or essentially Dark. It wouldn't matter how much that individual believed in the opposite doctrine. They would never be able to the opposing magic."

Harry felt like holding his breath. He desperately wanted to know how you could find out if you were one of those called to a specific type of magic. She must have read the question in his eyes for she actually chuckled.

"You, Mr. Potter, are one of those called to the Light. You will never be able to completely cast Dark magic and will always find Light magic significantly easier to perform. Just as Albus and I, and most of those in the Order."

"So the Order would exist regardless of the Dark Lord."

"Yes. In fact, it has always existed. It is a common misconception that Albus created the Order. That is not true. As long as there are people who are gifted with Light magic instead of Neutral, there is an Order of the Phoenix. Albus merely brought the Order into public awareness. The Ministry is strong. It dislikes both the Light and the Dark, for each is a threat to its power. Many centuries ago, the Light and Dark practitioners had to go underground, so to speak. Now most of the population is unaware of the true depth and history of their magic, though there are still some families who remember the old ways and the old stories."

Harry's fists clenched. "They're killing magic. The old ways and rituals bound magic to a form that could be assessed by humans. Without it, the magic will return to its wild state. There will be no more wizards or witches. We'll all be Muggles, then. Why wouldn't the Light and Dark stop this, make the situation known to the masses?"

"Don't be naïve," she snapped. "Obviously there is a good reason or we would have done as you just suggested. This proves my point that you are not ready to be Phoenix Leader."

It took a great effort, but he managed to blank his expression. "Please. Explain."

"The population is complacent. The majority would rebel at any inconvenience to their lives. They like being Neutral. And even if we were to introduce the old rituals, they won't work unless they are sincere. You can't force anyone to perform them. It is something you are raised to, which is obviously difficult to change. More importantly, we cannot attack the Ministry. It is needed to stand between the Dark and Light. The war with Voldemort was minor compared to the great feuds of old. They cannot be allowed to happen again. The Neutral party is essential for our survival."

"So are the old ways," Harry insisted stubbornly.

"It is a difficult contradiction, Harry," she admitted. "But that is reality."

"Basically, we are doomed no matter what we do; whether it be Light and Dark killing each other, the Muggles killing us all, or the Neutral government slowly eroding our grip on magic."

"Basically, yes." She lifted her tea cup and sipped.

Harry knew he must look astounded, but he didn't change his expression. How could she give up? How could she accept this fate? He decided to voice some of this. "I don't understand. I grew up a Muggle, yet I'm willing to fight for my magic. You were always a witch, yet you seem to accept this."

"I do not accept it, Mr. Potter, I am merely aware of the possibilities. I have faith that we will make it through these dark times." She set the cup down and folded her hands in her lap. "The Phoenix Leader must help keep hope alive, must help keep a light burning in the dark. You have the spirit to fulfill this job of being Leader, but you would also be required to possess the wisdom to navigate between these horrible fates."

Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "Being Leader of the Order means I'm the Leader of the Light."

"Exactly, Mr. Potter. You are claiming a place not as leader of a bunch of men and women set against Voldemort, but claiming the position to lead all those who remain true to the Light. The treaty calls for a unification of Powers, not a unifications of governments. Do you think you can really stand as representative and the voice of authority over all those within the Light?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, but his instinctive answer remained unchanged. "I will have to be. Can you think of a better person?"

McGonagall stared back, unimpressed.

"Look, I am not perfect. I don't know a lot, especially about history, but I'm not going to stand alone. You emphasis the weight of the people I will stand in front of, but it is also a community. I know the current political situation intimately. More intimately than anyone else. I can say that with utter confidence," he told her very honestly. He'd been at the first battle, after all, and knew the Dark forces inside out. He was the one to write the treaty in the first place. "I do think I am the best choice to be Phoenix Leader."

She seemed pleased with this answer. "Very wise of you to realize you are not alone." McGonagall held his gaze for a long minute. Harry very carefully did not blink. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I will support you to the Order, but it will be difficult even with my approval."

He almost laughed. "When is it not difficult?" Relaxing, he sat back and focused on the next problem. "I need to know Hogwarts legal standing with the Ministry, also Severus' position here."

Her eyes narrowed. "What is it you hope to accomplish? What are you planning?"

He flashed a hard smile. "Justice."

"And since when have you been concerned about Severus Snape?"

Harry narrowed his eyes warningly. "Severus is under my protection now that Dumbledore is gone and cannot do it himself. It is not important why. It just is. Besides, the Ministry is trying to gain control here and over the Light. That can't be allowed. The balance is fragile between the three allied Powers. We can't let it tip in any one direction or we'll be lost. I have to counter the Ministry firmly now before it's too late."

McGonagall sat back, surprise etched on her features. "You are correct, Mr. Potter. I can't help but wonder where this new insight has come from."

"As I said, Dumbledore has been teaching me this year. Not all our lessons were about magic." Harry paused, weighing the consequences of revealing more and decided that keeping it secret would not benefit him at this point. "He also left me a Pensieve with memories inside. Unknown to me, he cast a spell that placed those memories in my mind as if they were my own."

Her eye widened dramatically. "That would mean forfeiting them permanently."

Harry sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Apparently, he knew more precisely when his death may occur than we thought." Lowering his hand, he looked into her saddened eyes. "And he still didn't change his will. He named me as his successor."

McGonagall nodded sharply.

Harry nodded back. "Now tell me about Hogwarts and Severus."

**xXxXxXx**

Rufus looked up from the report he was reviewing on one Severus Snape when a soft knocked sounded at his office door. A second later his secretary, Meredith Merryweather, stepped nervously inside. He frowned. They had a magical intercom, so he did not understand her unasked for presence in his office.

"Yes?"

"A Mr. Potter is here to see you, sir. He's standing right outside."

Rufus' eyebrows lifted as he pushed to his feet. He closed the file and placed it in an invisible and heavily warded cabinet behind him. When he was finished, he straightened his robes. Only then did he nod at Meredith and say, "Send him in."

Meredith smiled with visible relief. "Yes sir." She opened the door wide and Potter strode across his office.

Rufus felt the friendly smile he'd donned freeze on stiff lips. This wasn't the same wary, sick teenager he'd met in the forest of Hogwarts. Diamond hard eyes captured his gaze as the young man took a seat in the visitor's chair across from his desk.

"Minister," Potter said in a soft voice that nonetheless carried to every corner of the spacious office.

Rufus realized he was still standing, struck dumb, and quickly recovered. His spine straightened and he pinned Potter under a fierce look. "To what do I own this visit?" He sat carefully in his chair, never moving his eyes from Potter. "I have a full docket today, so I'm afraid this meeting must be brief."

Potter removed a thick roll of parchment tied with a purple ribbon from his robe pocket. The ribbon was from the Ministry and donned all official documents. Potter placed the scroll in the center of Rufus' desk with a casual move of his hand.

Rufus smiled, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "You could have owled the emancipation forms, Harry," he chided gently.

"I needed to speak to you about two concerns of mine, and I thought I might as well bring the papers along and save the owl a trip, Rufus," Potter answered without so much as a blink.

He cringed at the use of his personal name and mentally tallied a point in Potter's direction. It had been a mistake, attempting to bring the conversation to a more intimate level. "Oh? What concerns, Mr. Potter? I am already putting a rush on your petition." It was a deliberate dig to remind the teen he was indebted to the Ministry.

Potter gave a wintery smile. "I wouldn't want to put you out. It's convenient that I won't miss much training, but I'm sure I'll be able to catch up."

"If you're changing your mind about training…"

"No. I am still very interested, but I am confident that my lessons with Albus will allow me to catch up if I have to wait the full four weeks for my emancipation to come through." Potter tilted his head thoughtfully, and Rufus narrowed his eyes. "Although, maybe it is better if I were to join from the start. The new strategies and techniques Albus and I have been developing might benefit the class."

Rufus went still, a cold mask settling on his features. Potter had simultaneously denied he was in the Ministry's debt and instead stated it was he who was bestowing favors. Rufus suddenly felt like he was dealing with a Slytherin… or Albus Dumbledore. The boy's claims of being trained by the Light Lord were becoming more possible and less like an empty boast by the minute. If Potter did have some secret information, Rufus needed to know it. This conversation was no longer a game. Real risks and rewards were at stake.

"But enough about that," Potter spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm here for another matter." The teen leaned back in his seat, hands resting relaxed in his lap. Despite the demure body language, Rufus stiffened, feeling threatened. "It's come to my attention that your Aurors interrogated Severus Snape without just cause or warning for almost forty-eight hours."

"I have yet to receive a report of the questioning concerning Mr. Snape," he answered stiffly and decided to try and take control of the conversation. "I fail to see how it is any concern of yours. In any case, I cannot divulge any information about the investigation. It is a confidential matter."

"See, I'm afraid there's been a miscommunication somewhere." Potter leaned forward once more, and Rufus found himself holding his breath. "First, Severus is a ward of Hogwarts. Hogwarts is not under the purview of the Ministry. It is a holding of the Light, which I allow to be governed by a Ministry approved board. At any time, I, as the appointed Leader of the Light, can disband the board and isolate the castle from all Ministry influence."

"Should you chose to do that, the students would be forced to leave," Rufus returned coldly, not impressed with the obvious bluff.

Potter smiled again. "Yes. Unfortunately Hogwarts would cease to be a school and would transform into a stronghold of the Light. Any who would stay would have to swear themselves into the Order of the Phoenix and agree to any training regimen I chose to implement."

Rufus paled. Perhaps it wasn't a bluff. "That would endanger those children who chose not to join."

"As I said, it'd be unfortunate. Hogwarts was meant to be a school, but as you know, when the Light and Dark began to be pushed out of society, the Light bought and purchased the castle and the surrounding land. The castle is legally mine, and any attempt to prevent me from claiming my property will result in severe magical repercussions for the Ministry. But I'm not here to talk about Hogwarts."

Potter then waved his hand in a dismissive sweep that strangely reminded Rufus of the Dark Lord. It was a controlled, elegant gesture that bespoke confidence that should be beyond Potter's sixteen years. Suddenly the teen became a potentially dangerous enigma. What did he really know about the boy?

"I am worried, Rufus, about how the Ministry is treating Severus' case," Potter continued. "I was not aware it needed to be a criminal investigation. To my knowledge, Severus is not suspected of any crime."

"Severus Snape was tried as a threat to the magical community and was found guilty," he snapped. "He owed his alliance to both the Light and Dark, impossible as that is supposed to be, and disappeared the night of your mentor's death. Not to mention his current condition is highly irregular. I find all this extremely suspicious."

"I don't understand your concern," Potter voiced with a look of bewilderment.

"My _concern_ is that Snape had something to do with Dumbledore's sudden death. My _concern_ is that Snape was then unaccounted for over the period of several days, only to return physically and mentally seventeen and without a Dark Mark. Both of which are impossible feats. My _concern_ is that this is merely some type of plot because there is only one wizard who is capable of such blatantly Dark magic."

Potter put his hands on the desk, gripping the edge as if he needed something to hold on to, but Rufus knew better than to think it was a gesture of weakness. "You see, Rufus, that is what I was afraid of. Severus Snape was treated as a criminal and abused…"

He tried to dispute that claim, but Potter talked right over him.

"Yes, _abused_, and I have the medical documents to prove it if you wish to see them." Potter's eyes were beginning to glow faintly with temper. "Abused due to his long ago connection to the Dark Lord, a connection that doesn't even exist any longer. What the Aurors have done is beyond criminal."

"I think you'd approve of the Ministry's caution regarding the Dark," Rufus voiced coldly.

"You think wrong," Potter answered coldly. "I don't approve of covert actions against my sworn allies. I am bound by the treaty to protect the Dark, as I am the Ministry. So I'm sure you understand why I must alert the Dark Lord of the Ministry's antagonism."

Rufus leapt to his feet, glaring fiercely down at the impudent young man. "Mr. Potter, I'm not sure you comprehend the fragile state the Wizarding world finds itself. The British Isles have been quiet, but I receive weekly reports of these Muggle soldiers attacking all across Europe." His voice descended into a furious hiss. "The death toll nears one thousand magical citizens. We are under an international crisis the likes of which the magical community has never faced before. And you sit here, like an arrogant child, threatening to inflame internal strife!"

Potter stood quickly, his control obviously snapped as he slammed a fist on the desk. "I am perfectly aware of the threat, Minister! You should focus on sharing our successful tactics to Europe, not spending man-power torturing seventeen-year-old boys because you are afraid of your own ally! Perhaps the other countries would be able to improve the strategies we've devised, or maybe an international alarm system and cooperative action could be arranged! Instead, you are still worried about Dark Lords and your own power! It is you who is behaving like a child, not me!"

Rufus forced himself to stand still and tall, refusing an instinctive flinch as the powerful teen leaned forward, eyes blazing.

"Let me point out, Minister, that if the other magical communities fall, Britain will be the Muggle's sole target, and they will have had time and practice to perfect their skills at fighting magic! We won't be able to stand against them. So what are you going to do, Rufus? Continue to suspect Lord Voldemort of foul play? Or are you going to get off your paranoid, ignorant arse and help all of Europe?"

"That will be hard to do if you force the Dark to retreat from the treaty," he all but snarled, scrambling for a defense.

"The treaty you spat on by treating Severus like a convicted criminal?" Potter laughed, the sound harsh. He shook his head and straightened, giving Rufus more space. "Here's what's going to happen. Severus' records will be erased after 1979. He will be given a legal fresh start. This is only reasonable due to the fact that he is from 1979 and is not responsible for anything that happened between then and now. You will send him an official notice of this ruling as well as an apology for the way he was treated. You will also inform him that the Aurors involved will be penalized. I want a report as to the punishment you deem appropriate, and if I am not satisfied, I will go to the Dark Lord."

Rufus ground his teeth. "Is that all, Mr. Potter," he asked with a dark edge.

Potter glared at him in return. "If you do not take this treaty seriously, then I need to make arrangements to save what I can. Britain will fall to the Muggles, and there is no point in endangering my people for a hopeless cause."

Rufus realized abruptly that his face was hot, his breathing quick and harsh. His thoughts were completely scattered. The situation was well out of his control and had been from the beginning. He'd underestimated his… opponent, for Potter was no ally even if he wasn't quite an enemy either. Allies don't blackmail each other and that was what Potter was doing. Not only that, but the boy had done it successfully. Rufus had no choice but to capitulate.

"You're right, of course. Your complaint will be taken very seriously, and I will launch an investigation into the Aurors in charge of Mr. Snape's case. I assure you justice will be served," he said evenly, retreating and acknowledging his defeat. This time. Potter had shown his hand. Rufus wouldn't be taken off guard again.

Potter nodded, his expression relaxing even as his eyes continued to blaze. "Thank you, Minister. I look forward to training with your Aurors and discussing with them the strategies Albus and I have developed."

Rufus maintained his glare. "I highly suggest, Mr. Potter, that you reconsider the way you approach me in the future if you expect anything productive to come of our alliance."

Potter held his gaze for a moment and then turned and left the room with the same confident stride he'd used when he entered.

Rufus remained standing for a moment before falling back into his seat, growling wordlessly as he gave a vicious snap with his wand.

"Yes, Minister," Meredith's voice answered from the crystal pyramid on his desk.

"Fetch Head Auror Shacklebolt."

"Yes, sir," she practically squeaked.

Rufus crossed his arms and fumed while he waited.

**O**

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew he'd won that encounter with the Minister, but it had cost him. Any future confrontation would be more difficult, and the Minister would resist any future advice or requests. Most Slytherins wouldn't have approved, but Harry had come to understand that Slytherin's loved to hoard power and keep their cards close to the chest for some future situation where they could go 'Hah!'. Harry needed to deal with the present as much as some potential future that may or may not happen. He thought it was worth whatever difficulty he'd just caused himself to win Severus free.

However, he was pissed that the confrontation had been necessary to begin with. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Couldn't, just once, the powers that be see the right course and follow it without needing to be bullied into it? Harry sneered at himself. What was he thinking? Of course it had to be difficult! It was his life, and nothing was easy when you were Harry-bloody-Potter.

Harry Apparated with a near silent pop and arrived in the suburbs of London a few miles away from the Ministry's public entrance. The street was empty. English houses stood shoulder to shoulder on the darkening street. Porch lights flicked on as night came closer. Cold bit into his hands and nose, but he stood entranced, unable to look away from the seemingly innocent two story house before him.

His thought scattered like frightened birds, and his stance widened as the ground seemed to tilt under his sneakered feet. His hands even rose from his sides for extra balance. He'd been so distracted with politics, he hadn't even considered what it meant to come back here. He'd blocked it out of his mind that Grimmauld Place was anything other than the Order's headquarters. But it was so much more than that.

There was a man standing on the stoop with a wide grin and flashing blue eyes. Restless energy practically radiated from his too skinny form as he lifted a hand and eagerly gestured Harry inside.

Then Harry blinked, his chest tightening painfully, and the man was gone.

_Sirius_.

The name resonated so loudly in his mind that he flinched and looked around, afraid he'd screamed it. Fortunately, everything was still quiet.

Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black's family home, donated to Dumbledore during the first war with Voldemort. Harry had spent Christmas here last year. It was the first time he'd ever spent the winter holiday away from Hogwarts and had been the best one he'd ever had. This house was the last place Harry had seen Sirius alive and relatively happy before the disastrous night at the Ministry last summer.

So much lay between Harry and the night of Sirius' murder, but suddenly it felt like yesterday. Harry physically staggered, his right hand clutching his robes above his heart. Oh god, _Sirius_. He'd been the only family Harry had ever known who had actually wanted him. Sirius was brilliant and dashing. He had loved Harry fiercely, and Harry had loved him back. And he was now gone forever. Murdered by his cousin. All because he'd come to Harry's defense. All because of Harry's mistake.

He was on his knees, arms tightly wrapped around his stomach, with no memory of falling. Harry could see him, an image so real and vivid it took his breath away. Sirius was standing on the front steps, wearing his infamous grin, before transforming into Padfoot. – The big black dog used to prance around Harry, occasionally giving a playful lick to Harry's fingers. A memory came, overwhelming him completely.

"Sirius! You shouldn't have come," Harry said when he realized Padfoot had followed him to the train station after Christmas holiday. Secretly, Harry was pleased Sirius cared so much. No one had sent him off before.

Padfoot morphed into his godfather's human form and grabbed Harry up into a hug. "Had to see my favorite godson off, didn't I, prongslet?"

Harry hugged him back just as tightly. Other than Hagrid and Molly Weasley, Sirius was the only adult to ever embrace him like this. It felt incredible and Harry smiled for hours afterward.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

With his eyes squeezed shut, he had no idea who was pulling him to his feet and guiding him into Grimmuald Place. He did recognize the voice enough to know he was safe, so he went without resisting the warm arm around his shoulders, the firm hand on his arm. Childishly, he wanted to keep his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see the house and be reminded of his godfather. It hurt so much to be here. To remember again just what he'd lost.

He was led through the entrance hall and to the right, which would be the sitting room, Harry remembered. Moments later he was pressed gently onto a couch. The hands then grazed over his chest and head, checking for wounds and fever. Harry felt uncomfortable, not knowing who was touching him, and his eyes popped open despite his very real desire not to see.

Charlie Weasley was kneeling before him with a concerned frown. "You okay, Harry? What are you doing here? Does Minerva know where you are?'

The questions recalled Harry to his purpose. This wasn't about Sirius. No matter how his stomach churned and his heart twisted, he was here to prove he could lead the Order. Harry squared his shoulders and firmly pushed all thoughts of Sirius out of his head. "Thanks, Charlie. I'm okay now."

Charlie observed him for a few more seconds before shrugging and getting to his feet. "So what are you doing here," he asked again.

"I'm here for the meeting." Harry smiled faintly, amused.

"What? You're in the Order now?" Charlie looked surprised.

Harry shrugged. "I'm going to get cleaned up. I'll be down later."

Without further explanation, he stood and made his way upstairs to the bathroom. He had an hour. He hoped it was enough time for what he was planning. Even if what he was about to attempt didn't pay off, Harry thought he still might be able to do this. But it would be easier if he was right. He locked the bathroom door and avoided his reflection in the mirror. He was scared he'd see grief lingering in his expression.

Harry settled on the floor, carefully placing Cushioning Charms around him. Then for the first time, he deliberately thought of the Order, he drew up images of the members he'd met and thought about what he knew about each. As he'd hoped, fireworks went off behind his eyes as he triggered another memory left by Dumbledore.

He was sitting at his desk, Fawkes warming the right side of his body from where he slept on his perch. The Order couldn't have a better mascot. Sometimes his familiar was the only thing in his life that kept him from despair. Shaking off the idle thoughts, he focused once more on the reports in front of him.

The Order was broken into three categories: active agents, informants, and financers. He went down the three lists, evaluating each member's strengths and weaknesses, making notations next to their pictures and names. They needed more active agents, especially when the war broke out in earnest. He only had twenty-two soldiers. It wouldn't be enough, not if things got as bad as he feared. With this in mind, he moved on to the lists of potential recruits. He pursued each name, considering the best strategies to convince them of the need to fight.

When the last name had been considered, he sighed and lifted the papers he'd worked so laboriously on and spilled them into the fire. A sense of grim resolution filled his heavy limbs as he stared into the warm blaze.

Harry was ripped from the past. The change from dim office to bright bathroom was painfully abrupt. Bruised and battered from the seizures he never remembered having, he groaned and rolled onto his side. The dossiers of each Order member he'd written… _Dumbledore_ had written, Harry corrected himself... filled his head.

The Dark respected power above all else. Power came in many forms, so age wasn't such an important factor for Dark followers. The Light, however, prized wisdom and righteousness above all else, which was commonly linked to maturity and age. He definitely had his work cut out for him, although his intimate understanding of each member would help tremendously. And Dumbledore was right. They did need to recruit more soldiers. This would benefit the war, but it would also help Harry. If he recruited them himself, they would be more likely to accept his leadership and follow orders than the older members.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Harry winced as he uncurled and pushed up into a sitting position. "One moment," he called a bit roughly.

With sweaty, shaking hands, he grabbed the lip of the sink and pulled himself to his feet. His reflection immediately caught his eye. Blood coated his chin and lips from a still trickling nosebleed. His neck was also stained red, his hair matted by his bleeding ears. He was pale and gaunt, looking more like a movie zombie than a living person.

"Hell," he muttered and quickly began washing up.

The knock sounded again. "Mr. Potter, the meeting should have started ten minutes ago," McGonagall's clearly disapproving voice floated through the door.

Harry let her in with a grimace. "Do you know any good glamours?"

McGonagall's eyes widened. "What happened, Potter? Were you attacked?"

"The memories hit me hard," Harry answered impatiently. His head was killing him. It seemed the whole room throbbed in time to his heartbeat. Or maybe his eyes were vibrating in his skull. It did feel as if they would melt into a puddle of goo at any moment.

"We should delay the meeting. You are unwell, and they will not appreciate a glamour. Not to mention, some will be able to sense it and grow suspicious about what you are hiding."

"Then I go as is." Harry quickly cast a Neatening Charm on his robes and hair before returning his glasses to his nose. Strangely, when his eyes were able to focus clearly it only heightened his migraine. He broke out in a sweat, nausea churning his gut. He quickly snatched them off his face again and shoved them in his pocket, acting like nothing had happened. "Let's go."

McGonagall frowned at him severely. "Take this, Potter. You are lucky I've been suffering headaches as of late and currently carry a potion with me."

Harry gulped down the disgusting potion and flashed a quick thankful smile at the older witch. "Thanks."

"You should tell them about the memories, Potter. It will at least get your foot in the door," she murmured as they went downstairs. "You can worry about earning the position on your own merits later."

Harry nodded. He'd already suspected it would become necessary, but it was good to have his instincts confirmed. After hearing about the attacks on Europe, it was more important than ever that he be granted control. He couldn't afford some ignorant, inflexible bastard to block him from preparing the Order for the war to come.

Squaring shoulders that wanted to curl forward under the pressure, Harry pushed open the meeting room's door and stepped inside. McGonagall followed at his heels, shutting the door and warding it. The room had been temporarily enlarged to the size of a small ballroom. Usually only the active agents met, but Harry had requested a full meeting, including informants and the financers.

There were many seats facing a large table and they were filled to capacity, leaving some standing along the walls. There were nearly one hundred wizards and witches all told, and if Harry had his glasses on, he knew he'd be able to recognize each and every one of them.

_Thank you,_ Harry thought toward the old wizard who had gifted him with his memories.

The oval table sat twenty-four. These seats were meant for the soldiers. Three chairs were left open. Harry stood behind one, while McGonagall sat in the chair directly to the right of the one he'd chosen. The quiet murmuring did not stop completely as he swept the group with a look he hoped conveyed strength and conviction. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd taken off his glasses. He knew the power a look could hold and didn't want his glasses in the way to soften the effect. Things were a bit fuzzy, especially those at the back of the room, but he could still maintain eye contact, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"I'm sure you all know who I am, but you may not be aware that Albus has been grooming me to take his place since I was eleven."

Almost as if he'd cast a spell, silence descended. He had everyone's complete attention now. Even without clear vision, he could tell many were frowning.

"You may not know that Albus was fully aware that his time drew near, in part due to a magical injury he sustained last summer."

"A Dark curse!"

Harry slapped his hand down hard on the oak table, glaring fiercely. "That is not the issue here. If you want to discuss the Dark later, fine. Right now I have information to deliver."

There was some grumbling, but Harry was heartened by the fact those sitting closest to him had been silenced.

"Albus permanently transferred some of his memories to me. It is as if they are my own. He's been training me to lead in battle since I was eleven years old. We all trusted him to guide us. I'm asking you to continue to do so, even though he has died. He appointed me Phoenix Leader for a reason. All I need from you is a little trust."

Loud chatter swept from the back of the room to the front, a wave of noise that threatened to sweep him off his feet due to his splitting head. The headache potion had only been enough to take the edge off.

"You can't expect us to…"

"… just a boy!"

"… can't possibly know battle!"

"Don't have proof…"

"Dumbledore wouldn't…"

"… prophecy? Is it still…"

Harry tilted a glance at McGonagall, not trusting his voice or magic right now, and indicated that this was the time to demonstrate she supported him.

McGonagall's lips twitched. She rose regally to her feet, her wand flicking sharply. A deafening clap of thunder literally shook the room. Harry, thankfully, was spared the sound, omitted from her spell, but he enjoyed the effects, watching everyone flinch and feeling the vibrations in the table and floor from the nearly subsonic boom. Silence reigned absolute, almost every eye staring at McGonagall in shock.

"You are not a bunch of magpies. Listen!" Her stern glare cowed many. She nodded to Harry and sat once more. "Go on, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you." Harry again swept the room with his eyes, his expression cold. "I'm aware that this is a very important decision. Before you make it, I want you to know what I have to offer. I've met with the Minister and the Dark Lord both. They recognize me as the representative of the Light due to Albus' will and my Lord-level power. Anyone not Lord-level would not match either Voldemort or the Ministry, and it would greatly disadvantage the Light within the Triad."

There were thoughtful murmurs at this. Harry hardened his voice.

"Should you refuse to accept my leadership, the treaty dissolved because the Light will have no successor. Albus named me. Really think about the consequences of such an action. We must be united to defeat the Muggle threat. The Dark will always be there afterward. However, if you agree to a probation period of two months, and after that time, you still feel I am unfit, I will step down. My Second, Minerva McGonagall, will then become Leader of the Order, as I will name her my successor."

He expected an eruption of sound, but instead the crowd remained absolutely silent. He could practically feel their eyes trying to dissect him.

"The Ministry is sending Aurors to the school. In fact, they should have arrived today," he continued, not letting himself hurry or react to the intense scrutiny.

"They arrived before dinner," McGonagall spoke up. "All those who wished to join the training and those with permission stayed afterward to discuss a training schedule. I believe it will start tomorrow after classes have finished and continue until eleven at night. They will be expected to do all homework in their free period. Also, the teachers have shortened the assignments of those students who are involved, but will grade the work more harshly in return. The students have agreed to this. Also, they will train for two full days over the weekend."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. I will also join the training, but I have to wait until my emancipation is finalized, which the Minister has assured me will be done by Friday. I intend to contact the Dark Lord and ask him to send a representative warrior to add to the training. They have faced the Muggles the most often, so they will have great insight to pass on. I'd like two Light soldiers to come to Hogwarts every week as well, so that all three powers are present. Hopefully, this will teach the students not only how to protect themselves, but also how to work with those who have different alliances."

There were nods of approval at this plan of action, although some parents, such as Molly Weasley, was not happy with the idea that a Death Eater would come to the school to teach her child.

"Also, I will ask those of you who serve the Ministry or the Dark Lord to quit your post or withdraw from the Order of the Phoenix." Harry's eyes landed on Shacklebolt. He hoped the man chose the Ministry after what he'd done to Severus. "We need to stand untied, but to do that successfully, political power must be perfectly balanced and alliances clear."

"It sounds like you have some strategies already cooked up, Potter," Moody barked suspiciously.

"We should not be idle," Harry answered, unfazed by the harsh demand. "This quiet will not last, and in fact, it is a false silence. Even now the Muggles are attacking Europe, perfecting their skills. When we face them again, they will be even harder to defeat, and we didn't do spectacularly well the first go around. Like the students, we should train, and train hard. Albus and I developed a training regimen that should even the odds a bit. I'll show you now. All active agents are required to attend every session. Those of you who are not active agents might want to consider taking the training as well, if only to know how to defend yourself. This is not like fighting wizards. At all. If you go into battle with that mindset, you will die. I've seen many records of the battle with the Muggles, and I tell you, many died who didn't have to."

Harry went on to detail the training he'd developed as the Dark Lord. He even added a few things, like running simulations in Hogsmeade so they could get used to using the environment – such as buildings and trees – as cover from the deadly bullets. He also charged any members with potions skill to begin brewing as many healing drafts as possible. Everyone also needed to learn how to do delicate summonings.

Before a wizard or witch could be healed, the bullet had to be removed. Summoning the object carelessly caused more damage, and possibly death, than the original trauma. He'd learned this the hard way with the Death Eaters. They hadn't known to remove the bullet at first, and this had led to complications and infection. Then two of the warriors had almost died from hasty summoning spells.

By the time his explanations for training and healing were finished, it was nearing midnight. Harry was gratified that the doubtful expressions had disappeared. Most still did not trust him fully, but they agreed to the probational period. Only thirty percent had voted against him. Not bad when to some he was just a sixteen-year-old kid that Dumbledore favored.

"I'll be staying tonight and tomorrow to help set up the training field at the Weasley's." He inclined his head to Molly and Arthur in gratitude that they had allowed their spacious land to be used by the Order. "I'll bring the guns I spoke of and also a few Null grenades. I hope to see many of you at the Burrow."

With that, he turned and made his way to the kitchen. The majority of the Order members would linger and talk before going home, so he figured he'd have a few minutes to eat in peace before he had to send off missives to both the Ministry and the Dark Lord. The first would inform Scrimegeour that the Aurors wouldn't be the only instructors during training, and the second would request that Death Eaters be sent to the school. Then, hopefully, he could finally collapse in a bed.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Please review! I am anxious to hear what you think about how this story is developing.


	18. Epistle

**Epistle**

The break of dawn was still an hour away. Night lay thick over the shadowed snow and under the tall silent trees. Voldemort glided through the cemetery, unhampered by the moonless dark. His magic pulsed and purred around him, making his thick robes ripple. Deep in thought, he hardly noticed as his Death Eaters bowed, their training coming to a stop, as he passed them by. The door to the manor opened without a touch, and he smiled sharply at the sight of Walden McNair kneeling in abject submission in the center of his foyer. He stared down at him through cold red eyes and allowed the door to shut behind him before addressing his servant.

"Speak."

"Nagini is healed, my Lord. She'll need a few days more to rest and eat, but she should make a full recovery."

The Dark Lord let his aura enfold the hapless man. "I am pleased, Walden."

"Thank you, my Lord," he answered breathlessly.

Voldemort brushed by him. He entered his study and settled regally into his chair. His spidery fingers tapped at the desk as he reviewed what he'd learned over the last few days about his Horcruxes. The diary was destroyed, as was the Gaunt ring. Slytherin's locket was stolen. However, Theodore Nott had fetched the diadem and was Obliviated. The diadem was now safe in Voldemort's possession, and he would find a new place to keep it, somewhere closer. Crispin Lestrange assured him the cup was secure and undisturbed. The old man was under a powerful spell that prevented him from speaking of the cup at all to anyone other than Voldemort and his goblin manager. Nagini was healed, and then there was Harry. That meant four of his seven Horcruxes were safe. It wasn't what he'd prefer, but it was acceptable for now.

Abruptly his fingers stilled as he sensed someone approach his door. There was no knock. The Death Eater would wait until Voldemort deigned to admit him. With a pleased smirk, he opened the door. Rookwood entered, already in a half-bow. Lucius followed at his heels with a respectful incline of his head.

Voldemort licked his lips. Lucius was so pretty when he was tamed. It brought back pleasant memories of Draco on his knees. "Lucius, what news do you have for me?"

"Training has been adjusted as you've ordered, my Lord. I have kept a detailed report of our progress." Lucius bowed before setting a scroll in the center of the Dark Lord's desk.

Voldemort turned his attention on his second servant. "Rookwood. What do you have to tell me?"

The man's pock-marked face twisted into what could be considered a smile. "My Lord, Potter arrived at the Ministry shortly after noon on Monday. He went straight to the Minister without an appointment or explanation to anyone. The Minister saw him immediately, and they were shut away for nearly half-an-hour. Afterward, Potter left, again without saying anything to anyone."

Voldemort reflexively dove into his mind, needing to see for himself. And surprisingly, instead of pain, an image came to him clearly and without pain: Harry striding down the hallway, expression masked, eyes glinting. His strides were even, powerful. His robes flared around him. None of the gaping Ministry employees got in his way. It clearly wouldn't be good for one's health. He withdrew from Rookwood's memory, a vicious grin stretching his face.

"Continue."

"The Minister then summoned Kingsley Shacklebolt, recently promoted to Head of MLE. They talked for just over an hour. Later that afternoon, it was made known that Shacklebolt and two other Aurors were being penalized due to a mistake concerning one of their cases. They will be docked pay and will have to spend weeks re-training, in addition to their current duties. I asked a few discrete questions and discovered the last case the three had been involved with was the questioning of Severus Snape on Saturday after Dumbledore's funeral. It is rumored that they didn't return to their posts until Monday morning, only a few hours before Potter arrived."

"Leave me."

The two men bowed and left the study as ordered. Voldemort stood and went to his window, hands clenched as adrenaline surged in his bloodstream. Two things were clear. One: his Legilimency ability had recovered. Two: the only way Harry could have gotten such dramatic capitulation from the Minister was if he had threatened to involve the Dark Lord with whatever had gone on. Harry had too little political leverage at the moment for anything else to make sense. That meant, despite his hatred, Harry willingly turned to Voldemort's mantle of influence to get what he wanted. He laughed, pressing his hand to the cold pane of glass.

However, his glee was interrupted when he noticed Two owls flying toward him. Voldemort turned cold eyes upon them, waiting, as the birds hovered in front of him. He took in the plain parchment on one and the ornate envelope carried by the other. He dismissed the second quickly, more interested in the perfectly ordinary looking letter. He knew who it was from without opening it or seeing the handwriting. No one else would use such inferior materials to write him. He swung the window open with a twirl of a finger. The birds settled on the back of his chair, and he reached for the plain envelope.

_The Aurors are coming to the school to train those willing and able starting Tuesday after dinner. It would be beneficial to the cause if you sent Death Eaters to assist in this training, as I will send two Order members starting this weekend._

"Very clever, Harry," he murmured fondly.

Harry wanted the Aurors and the Order members to become used to fighting alongside each other and become more comfortable working with the Dark. It was only partly for the students. He cast a quick Tempus charm and saw it was early Tuesday morning. He had time. After brief consideration, Voldemort decided he would send Rodolphus Lestrange and Thornfinn Rowle first. He'd send another pair every week until all his Death Eaters had a chance to train with the other two groups. Potter would likely order the same. Scrimegeour would as well, if he were smart.

That decided he turned his attention to the second missive. This one was also brief, but it had been written on expensive parchment and used royal blue ink made partly from crushed sapphire. Sebastian Nott's perfect calligraphy did the fine ink justice. Not that Voldemort cared overly much. He enjoyed fine things as his rightful due, but the information it contained was vastly more important. He felt hungry anticipation heat his blood. He now had a gift for his little Horcrux. Smiling, he took out the bold, blood-red parchment he favored and prepared a quill with thick black ink.

_I am quite impressed regarding how you handled the Ministry's idiocy, and I'd like to give you a gift. I'll expect you at midnight Thursday night. As for my Death Eaters, I will send some of my servants to Hogwarts to help in this training. Don't be late. _

He didn't sign it, as Potter had not signed his letter. It wasn't needed between them. Blood running hot, he attached his response to the bird and dismissed both. Then he strode from the study, heading for his dungeons. If his Legilimency was functioning again, it was time to find out just what he was dealing with.

Harry had already used the technique on the Muggle prisoners. It had gained him the information that magical children were being held and experimented on, but Voldemort wanted more than that. Unfortunately, Veritaserum and deeper Legilimency required intrinsic magic. Torture alone was unreliable, especially with subjects trained to resist such methods. However, what Harry didn't know, was that Legilimency paired with torture in just the right way could be exceedingly fruitful, especially with Muggles.

This was going to be enjoyable.

**O**

Severus came awake instantly, a habit he had developed long before he'd ever come to Hogwarts. There was no moment of fuzzy sleepiness. One second he was asleep, the next he was fully aware. He took in the sterile, overly white room and immediately recognized the infirmary at school.

His whole body ached. Every breath put pressure on his tender insides. Still, it was bliss compared to the remembered agony. He'd been certain he was going to die, murdered by Aurors. And, really, who would protest?

No one.

With eyes still clenched shut, he wrapped his arms around his chest. Shock set his limbs trembling, and he gulped silently for breath. He'd probably be crying if he was capable of it, but his father had beat such reactions out of him long ago.

The sharp sound of boot heels on linoleum made his whole body lock up with tension and his eyes flash open. Pomfrey said nothing, merely set an almost clear, blue-tinted potion on the tray near his bed. He kept his face utterly blank as the matronly woman moved off and busied herself cleaning the empty infirmary beds around the room.

Emotion kept Severus' chest tight as he quickly downed the Calming Draught. The shame over being so weak and the embarrassment of having Pomfrey witness his vulnerability slowly evaporated. It even dulled the screaming fear and endless black rage that stirred restlessly deep within his core. When he felt steady, he sat up carefully and scowled darkly at the hospital smock he was dressed in.

"Where are my clothes," he demanded roughly, still without looking at the nurse.

Pomfrey tutted, her full white skirts swaying as she came over. A sweep of her wand had the large cupboard at the back of the room swinging open. Severus' clothes floated out. "There's no talking to you until you dress, I know." She muttered a spell that created a screen between them so he could have some privacy.

Severus felt a strong surge of gratitude for this woman who had always patched him up without too much pity and always with discretion. He wanted to thank her, but the words wouldn't rise past his throat. Instead, he dressed as fast as humanly possible, intent on leaving this place.

"What time is it," he asked, partly because he wanted to know and partly to tell her he was finished.

Pomfrey opened a door in the screen and cast another spell that made it shimmer red, indicating it now functioned as an auditory as well as visual barrier. "It's Tuesday. Ten in the morning. You slept almost twenty-seven hours."

Severus nodded and remained standing, shoulders tense as he waited for her diagnosis.

"The Veritaserum is completely out of your system and has left no damage, despite your having consumed near overdose levels. You were severely dehydrated and exhausted, but both of these ailments have been cured while you slept. However, when they sealed your waste functions, it put extreme stress on your kidneys. It was nearing the point where you would have needed surgery to correct the damage. As it is, toxins were entering into your bloodstream. Thankfully, I was able to catch all this in time. You will need to take a purifying potion every week for a month to help your kidneys recover. Also, your bladder was strained. You'll need to take a muscle strengthener every other night for ten days. You should make a full recovery, but I'd like you to come back at the end of the month to check for any unforeseen complications."

He held himself still as he listened to her clinically describe the aftermath of his torture. Once she finished, he wordlessly accepted the potions she handed to him and gave a sharp nod of his chin toward the barrier. She lifted her wand but hesitated. He looked into her eyes, and his shoulders relaxed marginally at the concern he saw there. She had always taken care of him.

"Please be careful, Severus."

The magical screen fell and he took a few steps before he stopped. "Thank you," he said softly, before hurrying from the room.

Blistering cold spread from his center, numbing everything in its wake, but he was very careful to keep his stride even, his back straight. He refused to show weakness by slouching or slowing his normal pace, even though the corridors were empty and no one was around to appreciate his efforts.

The numb feeling hadn't lessened by the time he reached his quarters. In fact, it was growing worse, his chest getting tighter. He'd been abandoned by the Dark Lord. He had no friends. No family. No connections. Hell, he didn't even have personal knowledge of this time. What he did have were enemies. And not ones he could target or fight against. His enemies were faceless entities, the Ministry, the Dark, maybe even the Light. Not even Hogwarts was completely safe, as demonstrated by the Aurors.

Severus pushed his key toward his door. His hands were shaking so badly by this point that he missed the lock twice. Finally, he managed to enter and practically collapsed on the couch. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he forced his breathing to deepen and slow. One at a time, he acknowledged his churning emotions before forcing them aside behind Occlumency barriers. Fear, panic, hopelessness, rage… They couldn't help him now. He needed to be calm and cool-headed if he was going to figure out what to do.

His fireplace flared to life, startling him. Severus jumped to his feet, wand ready. His heart raced. He expected something violent, a prank maybe. Instead, a scroll rolled out onto the hearth rug. Severus eyed it suspiciously. When nothing further happened, he stepped slowly closer. It was a roll of black parchment bound with an elegant violet ribbon… Ministry colors.

He swallowed hard. Visions of being sentenced to Azkaban for some unknown crime he'd committed in a future he hadn't lived through flickered in his mind's eye. For a second, he thought about burning the missive unread, but his curiosity got the better of him. He bent down and scooped the parchment off the floor. It was surprisingly heavy, the paper thick and velvety smooth. Quickly unrolling the scroll with a snap of his wrist, he stared down at the silver calligraphy therein.

_To Mister Severus Snape,_

_We write to inform you your status as seventeen years of age, both mentally and physically, has been confirmed. All records between the date the fifth of June in the year nineteen seventy-nine and the current date of the seventeenth of January in the year nineteen ninety-seven has been expunged. We have also updated your file regarding your current status as an Apprentice of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_Further, an inquiry was held concerning the conduct of the Aurors presiding over your case. It has been determined they acted in excess of their orders and will be required to return to training for twelve weeks, as well as docked six months pay. The Ministry apologizes for the misconduct of Her officers and tenders you five hundred galleons to cover any hospital expenses or time missed from work. _

_With deepest regards,_

_The Minister of Magic_

_Rufus Scrimegeour_

Severus gaped down at the impossible parchment. Blindly, he walked backward, reaching for the couch. He sat heavily, his eyes never leaving the words on the official document he held. It was unheard of. It didn't make any sense! The Ministry never apologizes, unless there is no escape whatsoever. And to him! A nameless seventeen-year-old with no connections or political influence, who was regarded with deep suspicion…

It was _impossible_. Yet the missive remained solid in his hand, the words unchanging no matter how many times he re-read them. God, not only was it an apology, but the Aurors – possibly including Head of the Department no less! – had been reprimanded. And he'd been given money! Five hundred galleons was no small amount.

Severus' mind raced. Something had to have happened that he couldn't see. Someone with power had discovered his plight and had actually cared enough to confront the Ministry over it. And they had enough power to practically make the Ministry cower with its tail between its legs. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of anyone with such power who would give a shite about him.

The Dark Lord was pissed and would make him beg before granting any assistance. Lucius? No. Friend or not, he would also make Severus beg so that he could lord it over him. McGonagall? He had no idea what kind of power she wielded in current times, but even if she could, why would she care? This hadn't come free, that was certain. Someone had paid for Severus' freedom, and he had no idea who.

Grinding his teeth, he carefully rolled the parchment and placed it securely in the warded armoire in his bedroom for safekeeping. He moved immediately afterward toward his work area and the books on recent history and old newspapers waiting for him. He despised ignorance and refused to be powerless. He wouldn't leave his rooms again until he had a better understanding of the seventeen years he'd skipped.

**xXxXxXx**

Blaise's feet felt like blocks of stone. The rest of the volunteer soldiers trailing out of the Room of Requirement didn't look much better, but one student stood out from the rest. Draco strode along with a scowl, exhaustion nowhere in sight. The glint in his eyes could easily be mistaken for temper, but Blaise knew Draco. He knew it was obsession that energized the blond now.

This wasn't the same Draco who'd once been a good friend, who had taken the title Prince of Slytherin. Ever since the start of school in September, Draco had stood alone, isolating himself from the rest. This Draco had thoughts for only one thing: Harry Potter.

Blaise carefully masked the rage from his expression. He'd thought Draco was safe, but here he was, back at Hogwarts, tying himself in knots because Potter hadn't gone to classes the last two days or attended this first combat lesson. Blaise hoped Potter stayed gone. If Potter tried to take up with Draco again, what they'd done in the corridor would seem like a friendly exchange in comparison.

He snapped out of his murderous thoughts when he noticed Draco miss the turn off for the dungeons. Blaise quickened his pace and grabbed his friend by the arm. Draco spun on him with something resembling a snarl. Blaise regarded him coolly, hiding his very real fear. He had no idea what this unhinged version of his best friend was capable of.

"_What?"_

"Merlin, Draco," Blaise said softly. "You've hardly said two words to us since you got back, and you just shrug off our efforts to get you caught up on the two weeks you missed."

Draco shrugged and yanked his arm away, clearly unconcerned.

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You're acting like a Puff."

The change from annoyed to enraged was instant. Blaise found himself pressed against the castle wall, a wand digging into his throat.

"You better watch what you say to me, Zabini."

"I'm trying to help you," he answered with only a faint tremor in his voice. "You're not doing yourself any favors by acting like this."

"I don't particularly care what you think." Draco released him, his blond hair disheveled, hanging in his fevered eyes. "Stay out of this."

There was no reasoning with him, Blaise realized. Stalling, he straightened his robes, thinking fast. "Wake up, Malfoy. Your grades are abysmal, you look like shite, and you don't talk to anyone. You're empty." Blaise shook his head and pushed Draco out of his personal space. "You think Potter's going to be impressed?"

Draco froze. He literally stopped breathing, standing absolutely still.

Blaise smirked and kept talking, hoping like hell Draco didn't notice his shaking hands. "Make him come to you. Make him notice. Give him something to want."

For a brief moment, Blaise thought Draco was going to kill him, but then the blond shook himself, as if coming awake. He backed off, putting several feet distance between them. "You're a stupid bastard, Blaise. You never know when to shut up."

Blaise allowed himself a deep breath of relief. "Come on. Let's hit the showers."

Draco nodded and turned back to the dungeons.

Blaise grinned triumphantly. He would free Draco from Potter's clutches. He didn't care what it took or what he had to suffer to do it. His thoughts flashed to the blood-colored parchment he'd received that morning, tucked inside a letter from his mother. His smile flattened into a determined scowl. If it was the last thing he did, he'd see his friend free of this. Even if it meant facing off against the Dark Lord.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry stepped from her fire with his hair limp against his head and his eyes dull with exhaustion. With a severe frown, Minerva stood and came around her desk.

"It was my understanding you'd be back in time for today's classes, Mr. Potter," she said sternly, crossing her arms as she waited for an explanation.

A subdued smile came her way. "It took longer than I thought to organize them and set up the training. I'm happy to say we now have forty active agents."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, impressed. Her arms came down. "Very well. Only half an hour remains of your last class, so you might as well forgo the lesson. However, I expect you at dinner and in class tomorrow."

Harry nodded and pulled a black envelope from his robes. She caught sight of a second, one that was a deep red, and briefly wondered who would send such an ostentatious letter. "The Minister has informed me that I need to be present for a ceremony and a strategy meeting afterward."

Minerva read the summons quickly. "You may floo from here."

"I want you at the meeting, along with Moody."

"Of course, Mr. Potter. I am your Second."

He flashed another quick smile. "Shacklebolt is no longer in the Order. He chose his position as Auror."

She sighed and handed back the Ministry missive. "It is for the best, but I will admit to feeling a little sad."

"Severus needs to come, or I need a new witness."

Minerva had forgotten about that. "You might want to change your witness. Two teenagers representing the Light may not be a sound political move. Not to mention Severus' may not be in any condition to serve as witness. He has not left his rooms since leaving the infirmary early yesterday morning."

"Or it could be to our advantage that the others occasionally underestimate us." Harry shook his head, briefly pushing his heavy bangs from his eyes. "I'll talk to him before I decide."

He turned to leave, and she called after him, "Try to get some sleep tonight, Potter!"

Harry was constantly surprising her. He had surpassed her every expectation, and she no longer had doubts concerning his capability as Phoenix Leader. However, she worried about the toll this was costing him. He was still a teenager, after all. It would do no good if he collapsed from exhaustion.

**O**

Harry felt much better after a shower and drinking yet another energy potion, but before going to dinner, he swung by the kitchens for a brief chat with Dobby. He wanted to confirm that Severus was still in the castle, and it appeared that he was since he occasionally ordered meals by floo. Harry was both excited and anxious. He hoped Severus didn't curse him on sight.

"Harry!"

He turned and smiled at the scowling redhead. "Hey, Ron."

"Don't 'Hey, Ron' me! Where have you been?"

Harry quirked his lips, taking in his friend's scraped cheek and disheveled robes. "How's training?"

Ron rolled his eyes at the clumsy evasion, but he fell into step with Harry without giving him attitude. "It's not the DA, that's for sure. Did you know there are DE's here teaching us?"

"Might be a good thing. Might keep us alive," he said with deceptive indifference.

They took their normal seats at the Gryffindor table, Ron still disgruntled.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Harry noted the Hall was unusually subdued and quiet. Perhaps due to the majority of the sixth and seventh years from every House worn out from combat training. It didn't help that Hermione was missing. She always filled their meals with information. Her empty seat on the other side of him made Harry's stomach clench with nerves.

Neville smiled tiredly from across the table. "I was nervous at first," he admitted quietly. "But the Death Eaters spend as much time trading insults with the Aurors as they do teaching us."

"Not that we're complaining," Ron added with a grimace. "I've only felt this bad after a particularly grueling Quidditch match, and it's only the second day."

Harry frowned at the news. He'd hoped they'd be able to work together better than that, especially without the Order around to make it more complicated. The Aurors were supposed to be neutral, after all.

"So where were you?" Ron asked again, his blue eyes narrowed. It was clear he wouldn't accept another dodge.

Harry felt bad about leaving without talking to Ron on Monday. He hadn't expected to be gone this long. He ducked his head and poked at his dinner anxiously. "I was at Order HQ," he admitted quietly. "I'm taking Dumbledore's place. On Friday, I have to go to the Ministry to be sworn in, since I'll now be a part of the treaty, too."

Ron's mouth fell open in shock. Harry was just glad the redhead was between bites. That wouldn't have been a pleasant view.

"Merlin, Harry," Ron muttered darkly. "We're going to talk somewhere more private first thing tomorrow."

Harry nodded, accepting that. He was just grateful he'd have that much time before being interrogated because he needed to talk to Severus. If it wasn't for training continuing after dinner, Ron would likely have dragged him from the table now and not let him go again until midnight. Smiling to himself, Harry ate a big bite of potatoes. The sound of his Housemates' talking washed around him. It was nice to be home again.

Not even an hour later, Harry found himself deep in the dungeons. He wasn't in the least surprised to be standing in front of a heavy oak door and not a portrait. Portraits weren't nearly as safe as a solid door, but that raised an important question. Was standing there enough to alert those within or should he knock and risk triggering a protective ward? When nothing happened for a full minute, Harry braced himself and gave the door two sharp raps with the back of his knuckles. He didn't lose his fingers, so he considered it a success. At least until another full minute passed and the door still remained unanswered.

Harry frowned at the barrier. He knew Severus was in there, courtesy of Dobby. Maybe he hadn't knocked hard enough? The door looked awfully thick. But he didn't want to approach the door in any way that could be considered violent. That would be extremely stupid. He was in the process of working himself up to knock again when the door was suddenly flung wide.

He stood frozen as the young-again Severus glared at him venomously through long, stringy bangs. The sparsely lit corridor cast shadows that only emphasized the dark, puffy circles around Severus' eyes and how pale he was. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Are you okay?" Harry found himself asking. It was a stupid question. Obviously Severus wasn't doing great, and equally obvious was the fact that Severus wouldn't talk about it with _him_. Not Harry Potter, son of the bully who tormented him for years. Harry felt a pang of grief and anger, but he shoved both down deep. Getting emotional was exactly the wrong way to deal with this new Severus.

As expected, Severus remained silent and foreboding in the face of the question.

Harry drew his shoulders back, pulling on the mask he'd crafted as the Dark Lord and had recently adapted to his role as Phoenix Leader. "Are you aware you act as witness for the Light regarding the Treaty of Allied Powers?"

Severus narrowed his dark eyes. "No."

"On Friday evening, the allies will meet to officially accept the change of Light representative. As a witness, you have to be present when there are any changes or adjustments made to the treaty. If you are uncomfortable with this, another witness can be arranged."

Instead of answering, Severus surprisingly stepped aside, giving Harry access to the room beyond.

He felt his heart rate increase, well aware no words of welcome had been issued despite the gesture. It was reckless to walk willingly into the territory of a Dark wizard whose intentions were unknown, but if Harry turned away or refused, he would lose the chance to build a friendship with this Severus. Someone had to show trust first, and it wouldn't be the other teen. So, after only a brief pause to consider, Harry stepped inside.

The door shut by itself with an audible thud. Severus stood in the center of what looked to be a living room. He was fully dressed in a school robe that was buttoned all the way up to his throat. He had boots on his feet. There was no indication that he was standing in his personal apartment and not about to teach. Despite the foreboding posture, the room was cozy. The carpet under his feet was a dark, earthy brown with geometric patterns done in cream. The couches were black. Landscapes hung on the walls, mostly of winter scenes. A large marble fireplace stood to the left, blazing merrily. There was a low oriental coffee table and elegant lamps with dark green shades on side tables.

"Potter. Who were we to each other?"

Harry's hope surged higher at the question. Unconsciously, his shoulders relaxed. "We were many things. You were my teacher and I even thought you were my enemy briefly. But you protected me a few times even then."

"When did it change?"

Harry suddenly realized where such questions would lead, and it wasn't any place he wanted to go. He berated himself fiercely for not expecting this. He tried for nonchalance. "We were able to reach an understanding this year."

Severus regarded him clinically, like he would a potentially volatile potion. "When you were assaulted, your magic recognized mine and let me pass without your conscious permission. That suggests a level of intimacy that seems unlikely to reside between us."

"God, you still sound like you swallowed a dictionary," Harry muttered. He averted his face to the side, his arms crossing across his chest. "I was having difficulties, and we worked them out together. That's all."

Severus tilted his head curiously, his hair obscuring half his features. "When did our relationship deepen to such a level of unconditional trust? You being a Gryffindor student and I being a teacher and Head of Slytherin House would suggest we'd have little time to reconcile."

"Well," Harry quipped, a light smirk crossing his features. "It's quality not quantity that matters."

"I could believe that if the original catalyst was significant enough," Severus allowed. "So what was this problem of yours that was able to overcome our dislike of each other?"

"It doesn't matter now," Harry answered, lashing his arm out in a frustrated gesture. "I'll just get another witness. I don't have time for this." He turned, intending to make a quick exit, but there was a sharp click and the hum of magic activating that told Harry the door was now locked and warded. His fear transmuted instantly into anger. He spun. With a voice full of venom, he said, "I don't know what you think to gain by this. Let me out, Severus, or I'll tear through the ward."

"I get answers," Severus rasped, voice intense as his dark eyes bore into Harry. In a move almost too quick to see, the teen snapped up his wand and hissed, _"Legilimens!"_

The violent mental intrusion was Severus' second mistake. Harry was a Master now, and his best defense was to go on the offense. Harry flung his mind along the clumsy connection and literally smashed through Severus' usually impenetrable mind shields. By attempting Legilimency, Severus had weakened his own Occlumency.

Harry stood in an office done in warm creams and amber woods. The room was full of light, and his attention was instantly drawn to the right wall. It was covered floor to ceiling with newspaper clippings and carefully written notes; a collage that spanned the last two decades. There were clippings and magical photographs of the first war, devastating scenes of murder and destruction with the Dark Mark hanging sinisterly in the sky, articles practically screaming terror. Then there were clippings of the trials. There were lists of Death Eaters who went to Azkaban and lists of Death Eaters who were acquitted for various reasons, including Severus himself. Interestingly, there was a corner devoted to Harry, himself.

From the time he was heralded as the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior at fifteen months, to the gossip of his return when he was eleven, to Lockhart's publicity stunts that involved him in second year, to the Triwizard Tournament, to the slander of last year. Severus had lined up the positive articles on one side, the negative on the other. In the center was a square bit of parchment that read in Severus neat script: Who is Harry Potter really?

Harry took all this in within seconds, and then the magnitude of what he was seeing really hit him. This wall had been painstakingly constructed. _This_ was the massive gap that Severus faced every day. It was the chasm that separated him from the world he now found himself stuck in.

As if triggered by his understanding, a sense of desperation and helplessness seeped into Harry's consciousness. Severus was utterly _alone_. He had no sides, no allegiance to anyone, no family, no friends. He was rootless, disconnected, trapped in a world that was, at best, a twisted reflection of what he knew or was completely unrecognizable at worst. Stark terror lay underneath that desperation because he wasn't safe. As proven by the Dark Lord who had done this to him and by the Aurors who held him at fault for things he didn't fully understand or remember.

The isolation, the helplessness, reminded Harry painfully of his life with the Dursleys. Harry had been powerless to stop the abuse. He'd had only adversaries in his life, and no means to change or better his situation. It was a hopeless existence that he never wanted to return to, and it killed him to know Severus was trapped in a similar dark place with no means of climbing out.

He staggered as Severus finally managed to reassert his Occlumency barriers. They were both panting, faces damp with sweat. Severus' hands were clenched into fists, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Harry mustered a glare in return, even as he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Severus didn't deserve this crap, and his emotional anguish hurt Harry more than Severus would probably ever know.

"Get out!" Severus was nearly screaming, he was so enraged.

Harry pushed off the door and got right up into his face. "Don't give me that shit! You started this, now you're going to finish it!"

Severus tried to turn away, but Harry grabbed his arm to hold him in place.

"You've got a crappy deal, and your life is in tatters. The way I see it, you've got two choices. You can throw away what's left and truly start over in another country. Or you can go through with reclaiming your life here and make it your own."

"I don't need advice from the likes of you," Severus practically spat in his face and yanked his arm free.

"You wanted answers. I'm giving you some," Harry countered furiously. "I'm trying to help you. You didn't need to attack my mind."

"Why would you care?" Severus crossed his arms, two red circles in the hollow of his cheeks.

Harry took a deep breath. "We were friends. At the end of the day, you're still Severus. We could be friends again, but not without effort on both our parts. I have to relearn you, just as you have to become re-acquainted with me. Or we can return to having animosity between us. It's your choice, Severus. I can't make it for you."

Severus seemed to gather himself, his expression closing off, the rage in his glittering black eyes disappearing behind Occlumency shields. "And what would I get out of being your friend, Potter? It seems to be a hazardous position."

Harry felt himself go cold at the brutal words. Thoughts of Cedric and Sirius seared through him. "You're right. Excuse me." He turned away, desperately wanting to end this confrontation.

"Who's being acknowledged as Light Lord? McGonagall?"

"I am," he answered without turning back around. "Now unlock the door."

**O**

Severus had been so confident he could control the situation. So sure he could take advantage of Potter's unfathomable affection. So certain he'd get the answers he _needed_.

It was clear Potter wasn't what he seemed. There were secrets behind those too green eyes, and if Severus could just figure them out, he'd have leverage, he'd have control. But he'd been overconfident. In the face of Potter's fragile, innocent appearance, he had forgotten the boy was heralded as Savior, Defeater of the Dark Lord, for a reason. Forgotten he'd witnessed the very same boy stand up against said Dark Lord in the Shrieking Shack not a week ago. It just seemed so impossible, looking at this too scrawny sixteen-year-old, that there was any such power to remember. At least until those green eyes began to glow and the magic around him felt like a dozen poised swords.

"Open the door, Severus. Now."

So many conflicting images crashed in his mind until one image rose above the maelstrom. Harry Potter, a Light Lord, offering friendship and being refused. The way the earnest, angry expression had froze and blanked.

The Dark Lord had rejected Severus, the Ministry – despite the apology – couldn't be trusted after nearly _killing_ him, and he'd just willingly made Potter an adversary. He'd had no choices it seemed since he'd woken. He didn't want his first one to be a mistake. Potter was right. He had to take this life and _own_ it.

"Wait." He took a deep breath, hugging his chest to hide his shaking hands. "Please."

Green eyes peeked at him over a stiff shoulder, but Potter still didn't turn to face him.

Severus swallowed more of his pride. It felt like gravel and glass going down. "I'm sorry. I'd like… to try again."

He expected to be shredded, for his vulnerability to be wielded against him as punishment for his mistake. Instead, Potter turned and gave him a narrowed-eyed look. With a loud exhale, he shoved bulky glasses higher up his nose, saying, "Yeah. I'd like that, too."

Severus almost gaped. He had no idea how to deal with the situation. Potter was like no one he'd met before. It set him further off balance.

"Look. I know a little about impossible situations. If I can help, I will."

The earnest expression was back. Severus dove deep behind his Occlumency shields, as deep as he'd go when he was with his father, until an almost inhuman calm wrapped around him. "Information would be appreciated," he said mechanically, voice stripped of inflection.

Potter winced before nodding. Whether due to Severus' tone or request, he didn't know. "All right. Ask and I'll answer as best I can. But I reserve the right to pass on a question."

Severus turned and moved toward his sofa. With an impassive gesture, he indicated Potter should sit in the arm chair adjacent from his position. Potter obeyed. "Tell me about the night the Dark Lord attacked you as a baby."

He listened, emotionless and analytical, as the teen spoke swiftly of a prophecy, the Fidelus Charm, betrayal, and Lily screaming before a wave of green light silenced her forever. This last detail almost tore him from his mental shelter. _Lily_. For Severus, the pain of her betrayal was still fresh, as well as the acidic burn of guilt for losing his self-control and betraying her trust first. He shoved both down deep. He could rage later.

"You were close to Dumbledore. Tell me what you know about my position regarding him."

It was like hearing a story about a stranger. Apparently Potter believed he had honestly turned to the Light when the Dark Lord began to unravel due to Dark addiction. Dumbledore had sheltered him and overtime befriended Severus somehow. The bitterness he harbored due to the Headmaster's prejudice and hypocrisy either had been laid aside or nursed privately in the depths of his soul.

"I killed him, though. That's why the Dark Lord punished me."

Potter hesitated for the first time in nearly an hour, and Severus zeroed in on this sign of weakness. "You didn't mean to kill him. He jumped in the way of the curse that you had aimed at someone else."

"Who?"

"Pass."

Severus regarded him coldly. "No. Not this. I have to know why this has happened to me."

Potter's jaw tensed. His hands fisted on his knees. "It's complicated."

Severus waited, unmoving. After almost a full minute where Potter clearly struggled with himself, the teen finally caved.

"I was there that night. It's common knowledge for many, so you would have found out anyway. But no one knows all the details." Green eyes pierced into him, and Severus went completely still, holding his breath. "It would be in your best interest as well if what I'm about to tell you remains private. I'm sure you wouldn't want it to come out that Dumbledore didn't really die of natural causes."

Very Slytherin, Severus noted, adding the observation to the mental collection of details he was collecting about this strange boy. "I understand."

Potter nodded once, sharply, and kept his head ducked so that his eyes were hidden by his fringe. "During the summer, Draco began to question his allegiance to the Dark. His mother was worried and bound you with the Unbreakable Vow. Due to certain circumstances this year, I was occasionally not myself. During those times, I…" Potter's breath came quick and shallow. What Severus could see of his face was pale. He lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "I abused him," Potter rasped.

Severus' eyes flared, but his tone remained detached. "How so?"

Potter hitched a single shoulder. "I have no memories of those times, but it went on for months. Things degraded to the point where Draco tried to kill himself to escape returning to Hogwarts. You found out and came to the top of the Astronomy Tower, driven by the vow you had sworn. Dumbledore was with me. You cast the Killing Curse at me. He stepped between us. Then you and Draco fled. The next time I saw you was in the Shrieking Shack."

Severus reeled with the startling information. He had tried to kill Potter and failed? Was that why the Dark Lord was mad? Not because he had killed Dumbledore but because he'd failed to kill Potter? None of it made sense, but he didn't doubt Potter. It was obvious he was telling the truth. Perhaps it wasn't the whole truth? Severus felt his eyes narrow dangerously.

"You're saying that we somehow overcame our animosity and our age gap while you simultaneously abused my godson. Our friendship grew so close that you forgive my attempt to murder you. You forgive me actually killing your mentor in your stead."

Potter grimaced. "Put like that…" He ran his hands through his hair vigorously. "There's nothing to forgive. It was an accident."

Severus had nothing to say to such an absurd statement. There was no possible way attempted murder could be an accident. Unless you say the murderer accidentally failed. But such stupidity was expected from a sentimental Gryffindor. Still… Severus couldn't understand the boy's desire to renew their… whatever it had been between them.

"And would I have forgiven you for abusing Draco?"

Potter sighed, listing to the side in the armchair. "There is context surrounding these events that can't be explained, but, yes, you would have forgiven me. You also forgave me being a Potter."

Both statements seemed impossible to Severus. He wasn't the forgiving type. And, really, this whole abuse of Draco thing seemed suspicious. Draco did seem bitter and hard, but when Potter's name had been mentioned he hadn't seemed cowed. Draco spoke passionately in equal dislike and fascination when it came to Potter. This wasn't the attitude one developed for their abusers. And if the abuse was mild, if Severus would have forgiven it – which, considering the abuse he'd suffered from a different Potter, he highly doubted – why would he have tried to kill the teen? In front of a witness – Dumbledore no less! It just didn't make sense. And why would Draco attempt to kill himself to avoid Hogwarts only to later come back when he could have stayed away with his mother?

It was all so unfathomable, but Severus did know one thing; he wanted to solve this mystery that was Harry Potter. How was it that this boy could be a Light Lord at sixteen years of age? This Potter with Lily's eyes. This same impossible Potter who once defeated the Dark Lord and who now had secret meetings with him in rundown shacks. And let's not forget Severus had just discovered the teen was a highly skilled Legilimens!

"Thank you for answering my questions. I will remain your witness, if you don't mind."

Potter regarded him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay. Well, after classes on Friday, we'll floo to the Ministry. I'll be sworn in, and you'll witness. Afterward, there will be a strategy session. A few Order members, Death Eaters, and Aurors will be present for that as well. Then we'll return here for a late dinner. Saturday at sunrise, I'll join the combat training being held here at Hogwarts, as well as a few Order members. You're welcome to join with me if you want."

Severus blinked slowly, absorbing this onslaught of information. "I'd like that."

Potter ducked his head in a semi-awkward nod. His fingers began fidgeting minutely with his pants. "Then I'll meet you at the Headmistress' office at four thirty, Friday."

"I'll be there," Severus reiterated, amused at this suddenly bashful demeanor.

They stood and Severus followed him to the door. A simple wave of his wand and the door unlocked and opened.

Potter hesitated in the doorway. "Bye," he muttered, uncertainty in every line of his face.

"Goodbye," Severus answered with a quirk of the lips.

Potter snorted and grinned, the shyness falling away. He waved once and strode down the corridor without looking back.

Severus watched him go, his smirk turning down into a frown. He had much to think about.

**Chapter end.**


	19. Insanity

**Insanity**

Saint Mungo's was nearly silent. Most of the nurses and mediwizards were home, the majority of the patients asleep. Luna wanted to keep it that way. Careful preparation that afternoon had insured no alarms would alert the nurses on duty as she left her designated bed. In no hurry, she stepped lightly down the hall. Her freshly washed thick blonde hair tickled her cheeks and warmed her mostly bare shoulders. For the first time in a long while, she was completely without pain and not in the least sleepy. More importantly, the sparkling star babies were as bright as ever, and she followed them, knowing they would take her where she needed to go.

A short elevator ride later, she walked through the Janus Thickey Ward. Here, soft whimpers and snores wove together into a soothing song that made her sway. She was tempted to let herself be carried away by the fitful dreams entwined around every note, but the starlings twinkled and streaked ever forward, so she continued on.

The far back corner was completely curtained off. Clearly it was not a component of the ambient life of this ward. It stood apart, and it was also Luna's destination. She considered for a moment. Certainly this island would be defended and her intrusion noticed. The star babies laughed and fell upon the dividing material, making constellations not seen in the sky for millennia. Luna closed her eyes and made a wish on the brightest before stepping through the now neutralized barrier.

She arrived on a new earth. Heavy gravity pressed her feet almost painfully to floor. Before her stood an impenetrable fortress that made the steel walls she'd bypassed look flimsy in comparison. The castle was made of unrelenting words shaping equally uncompromising facts, and Hermione sat safe in the middle of them on a nest of blankets. Ropes of calligraphy wrapped around her. They writhed and slithered like snakes. It would have been disturbing except they hung about her shoulders like a gown and encircled her head like a crown. Hermione was their Queen.

"Luna."

She blinked and realized the shrunken brown eyes were locked on her. Luna smiled. "Hello, Hermione. It looks like your subjects are content under your reign." Four tomes lay open before her, and they were indeed happy.

"Are they?" Hermione shut her eyes briefly, and Luna saw that being Queen was a laborious job.

"Perhaps you should teach them to fish for themselves and come home."

Hermione laughed bitterly, her eyes opening once more. "Home is invaded, the well poisoned."

"No." Luna reached over that wall of books and stroked the girl's tangled hair. "Not poisoned. Just tainted. A clean rain will wash the skim of filth out to the sea and our home will be clean once more."

"There is no room in me for faith or hope," Hermione answered with eyes too full of knowledge for emotion to hold sway for long. Her attention drifted back to the tomes attending court around her. They shamelessly sat on display, whispering words that danced and swirled across the velvet pages.

While Luna waited for Hermione to finish her duties to her court, she continued to stroke the girl's hair. It didn't seem like those present thought less of their Queen for allowing it. Eventually, brown eyes lifted to her once more.

"You don't need faith to believe. Believe in the facts. You know Harry is strong. You know he's never allowed himself to be beaten for long. You know he has endured too much to let this have him. You know he's also alone right now, and you know Harry will need you. The starlings told me to tell you. It will be soon." She realized abruptly that Hermione was silently weeping under her hand. Luna softened her voice into a gentle melody. "There must be a little room for hope, Hermione. Enough room for this."

"Hope can lie," the besieged Queen answered.

Luna pulled her hand away, knowing she was about to deliver a truth that would hurt the girl. "I know. But sometimes facts can, too, and that's what you're really afraid of. Not hope."

As expected, Hermione flinched. She turned away, and Luna understood she'd been silently dismissed. With a sigh, Luna took out the rope of gum wrappers from her hospital smock's pocket. The speckled gynaark who often visited her had taught her how to make it. It had told her he'd been convinced by another patient in the hospital that they were dead useful, and they were right. It was just what she needed. Luna flung one end of the rope over the fortress wall. Maybe Hermione could use it to climb out.

"Harry's not the only one waiting for you," she offered. "Your red knight is lost without his Queen to help defend the King."

Hermione's shoulders tensed but otherwise Luna didn't get a response. With another smile, she turned and stepped past the edge of Hermione's kingdom. It was time to go home. She had faith that the Queen would someday choose to follow.

**xXxXxXx**

… _Harry_…

… Harry…

"Harry!"

He sat up with a gasp, wide-awake with adrenaline slicing along his nerves. Harry stared at Ron, who stood with his head poked through the bed curtains. The twinkling blue eyes and amused smiled didn't really register to the startled teen, and he asked in a panic, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Ron grinned openly. "Nothing. Did you forget about having a little talk this morning?"

Harry groaned and flopped back against his warm nest of pillows and blankets. He hadn't slept as deeply as he had last night in a long time, and he definitely didn't get enough of it. With a low groan of regret, he flung his bed covers off. He scowled when Ron gave a satisfied grunt.

"Don't give me that look, Harry. I've let you push me off for too long. Now hurry up. I don't want anyone to see us on the way to the Room of Requirement."

"What time is it?" he demanded in a hiss as he stepped into the nearly pitch black dorm room.

"Six thirty," was the too cheerful answer.

Harry muttered ill-temperedly as he stumbled into his school clothes. He wasn't really mad, though. Ron was right. This talk was too late in coming. It just sucked that the trauma of coming clean about a few things was going to be compounded with the pain of being up before the godforsaken sun. He had to have the worst karma in the world.

Ron was the one in charge of creating the room, so Harry expected something like the Burrow. Instead, the only thing that conformed to Harry's expectations was the fact that there was an extravagant breakfast laid out on the table. The room was small with white carpet and beige walls. In the center, a medium-sized triangular antique oak table sat with two matching chairs. The strange shape of the table made Harry think of Hermione. For so long they'd been a threesome, it was strange to be reduced to two. A coffee pot sat as the center piece and mugs were positioned besides the two place settings.

Harry smiled in bemusement even as he sat and reached for the hot, caffeinated beverage. "Coffee?" It was half question, half invitation.

"It's growing on me," Ron answered with a smile of his own. "Especially at six thirty." He sat and accepted the mug Harry handed to him.

"Hey, don't look at me. You're at fault for the schedule." He looked at the large food steaming at the edge of the table. "Expecting us to miss breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be here a while." Ron flashed a rather ruthless look Harry's way. Clearly, he'd been pushed as far as he could go and wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Harry sighed. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, glad he wasn't sitting directly across from the redhead. This was going to be difficult as it was without having to maintain constant eye contact. "Where to start…"

"The beginning," Ron answered firmly, eyes pinned to the side of Harry's face. "You look like crap, Harry. I know I haven't been paying much attention this year, but I'm listening now."

_Not the beginning,_ Harry thought vehemently. There was no way he'd ever tell anyone about the switch. Shame and guilt almost buried him as it was. He couldn't handle anyone knowing what he'd done. It would destroy him. Ron would have to settle for starting in the middle. The middle was bad enough. "We're in real trouble here, Ron."

"Tell me."

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his burning eyes. "I saw them. The battles. The Muggle attacks."

Exhausted, it was so easy to go back there, to slip under the dark water of his memories. In a flash, he was standing there again. He could feel the relentless patter of the machine guns throbbing through the air. The sound so constant it became a tactile sense more than an audible one. He could smell smoke and burning meat, like at a barbeque. God the screams. They would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Women, children, men, their voices indistinguishable. Hysterical. Terrified. A woman gunned down, her body jerking as it was shredded and torn apart. Bodies lay like discarded dolls. Mutilated, unrecognizable, only vaguely human anymore. Limbs and faces missing. Those dead eyes and empty sockets followed him everywhere he went.

Blood. The streets were soaked with blood, buildings painted with red. Red flames, red blood. And the pressure, always there, making him struggle to move forward. His magic, Dark, so Dark, strangled and hungry. He could feel the bodies of the soldiers unravel under his rage. His terror. He didn't want to die here. In this filth. Gunned down.

"Harry!"

He jerked as if slapped. He wasn't in Salisbury. He was in a white room. Ron was crouched before him, his Quidditch calloused hands holding firmly to Harry's wrists. Harry realized he was panting, covered in a cold-sweat. Just a nightmare.

Stiffly, he pulled away from Ron's grip and angled his body toward the table. One hand grabbed the cooling coffee mug while the other arm wrapped around his stomach. "It's real bad," he repeated, voice surprisingly hoarse. "We can't defend ourselves at all without magic. Even if we could fight with Muggle weapons, nothing would match these guys' fire power."

"Hey, it's bad, but we're doing all right," Ron offered uncertainly.

Harry laughed at his friend's naivety. "It was a slaughter. Each and every battle. We were slaughtered. Hardly more than a dozen Muggles died in each attack. A dozen. Nearly seventy people died in Salisbury alone. Women and children, Ron. Babies were burned alive, toddlers gunned down in their mother's arms. It didn't matter to them. They just want us dead."

He glanced up to see the redhead standing, his hand white-knuckled on the chair back. His face was so pale Harry could have counted every freckle dusting his cheeks and nose.

"The strategies we worked up help, but so many keep dying. These Muggles think wizardkind will rise up one day and kill them all, so they aren't ever going to stop. They can't be reasoned with. Can't be bribed. They want us dead, and they aren't going to stop. They'll keep coming and coming until we kill them all or they kill us. Our only chance… our _only_ chance… is to stand together. But the prejudice between the factions goes too deep, and I'm afraid that no matter what I do or how hard I try, we're going to die. This is the end for us, for magic."

Ron slammed his hand down on the table, making the dishes rattle. "Stop it, Harry," he grated, voice low. "We're not going to die. It might take a while to get used to each other, but when it comes down to it, we'll do what it takes to survive this."

Harry sneered down at the table. "And how many more will have to die before that happens?"

"Harry…"

Ron looked devastated and lost, and Harry instantly felt furious with himself. He pushed to his feet and stalked across the room. Things were hopeless enough as it was. He didn't need to add to it. His friends had suffered enough because of him. It was time to suck it up and get it together. He spun back around to face his friend and mustered up a smile.

"Sorry. I don't know what's got into me. You're right. We'll beat this. I've got the Order training, using the strategies that worked best in the last battles, and hopefully the Dark and Light will learn how to work together while teaching us here at Hogwarts."

Ron made a fist, holding it out to Harry. "I'm with you. Anything I can do, I will."

A true smile softened his features. "I know." He stepped across the distance between them and knocked his fist against Ron's. "Let me show you the strategies and tactics we're using. Maybe a fresh eye would see something we missed."

Ron snorted, expression wry. "Doubt I'll see anything the Dark Lord, fully trained Aurors, and the Order missed, but I can take a look."

They settled back at the table, which helpfully lengthened into a rectangle, giving Harry room to sketch out magical diagrams. Ron leaned close, so intent on the board that he didn't even glance at all the food. Harry grinned to himself. So it took a war and a friend on the brink of a meltdown to get the redhead to miss breakfast. He'd have to let the others know. They'd been certain that nothing would divert Ron from a meal.

"You know…" Harry said suddenly, feeling much more buoyant. "We should talk to Dean. Muggles make these war games, and teenagers love to play them. Maybe Dean could help us better understand the strategies these soldiers are using."

Ron shook his head at the insanity of Muggles. "Sounds like a plan."

**xXxXxXx**

"Miss Lovegood, good to see you!" – "How are you feeling, Luna?" – "It's good to have you back, Loony!"

She basked in the wave of sound and touch that welcomed her home, but half her attention was elsewhere. She was searching for the stains created by the malevolent and powerful wrackspurt that had invaded the school. To her surprise, the slick tar that'd been streaking the walls and floors was nearly gone. Only a few small pools remained in out of reach corners. That could mean only one thing.

Luna did a little twirl, heart full to bursting with pure joy. No wonder the star babies were so active! She danced her way down the cleaned corridors. An entourage of laughs and calls escorted her to lunch. She skipped up to the Gryffindor table with a happy grin. The lions' chatter warned him, so Harry was conveniently facing her by the time she reached him. She practically leapt onto his lap.

At first, he sat unyielding as a mountain, but he soon gave way to the soft, warm earth she knew rested at his heart. Harry was like good farmland. He had the potential to make things around him grow and flourish. She pressed her face into his neck and inhaled. Clearly, he'd recently experienced disaster and devastation that could strip the land bare and make it barren, but as she'd told Hermione, there was a purity to the King that refused to be ruined. Despite everything, there was rich soil under the hardened and cracked surface. She could still smell it in his clean scent.

"I'm sorry," was whispered into her ear with a voice resonant with pain.

She shook her head and pulled back to pat his damp cheek. "After the rains wash the earth clean, things will grow again."

He smiled at her and, suddenly, he was incandescent to her eyes. It was as if his skin began to glow with every color of his soul. Deep ocean blues for regret and sorrow. Dark orange for shame, putrid yellow for pain and soul-sickness. Steel grey for necessity and self-denial. Blood red rage, black hatred, and deep purple for guilt. But there were also streaks of light forking out like unremitting lightning. Bright yellow joy, leaf greens for friendship, and pink love. There was bright, glimmering gold for loyalty, amethyst for protectiveness, and sky blue compassion.

As beautiful as this was, it wasn't the lightning that took her breath away. There, at the core of Harry Potter, existed a crystal heart of burning light. It was the pure white of selflessness.

"You're beautiful, Harry," she told him with absolute honesty.

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, hungry for her forgiveness, before ducking his head. "Thank you."

She nodded and pulled away from his embrace. She grinned at the red knight, knowing he would engage the King, teasing out Harry's laughter for as long as he could. Ron was kind like that. She laughed, twirled a few more times, and finally returned to her place among the cackling ravens.

**xXxXxXx**

Though Harry wasn't the Headmaster, he technically owned Hogwarts now, and he discovered this meant that, while on the property, the castle's magic was in contact with his own. This gave him intuitions, if not concrete knowledge about the school. For example, he had a sense that there was someone else walking the halls this night, but he had no idea where they were or who.

Despite this development, Harry couldn't initially affect the wards. Which, considering he expected to be sneaking off the grounds fairly frequently, like now, wasn't very convenient. So he had shamelessly begged and pleaded with Hogwarts' magic and eventually got a sense of reluctant capitulation. The wards would remain passive, neither alerting McGonagall nor keeping it secret. If she were to check, his departure would be discovered. Harry forced himself to be satisfied with this. The likelihood of her checking was small.

A moment after Harry passed the anti-Apparation ward, he stood in the familiar receiving room inside Riddle Manor. Memories, indistinct but no less powerful for having been copied for Voldemort, pressed in on him. It made him feel on edge, as if he were walking a tightrope over a bottomless pit. A misstep would send him careening down into the abyss. If he were honest with himself, it felt as if he'd been dancing along that edge for months now. It was an exhausting thought.

Harry shook himself. Now was not the time to show he was unsettled. Voldemort waited for him, and he could not be weak in mind or body. He had to focus. He had to be perfectly composed. Purposely he remembered Hermione's frantic, desperate face. Remembered Pomfrey's thoughts concerning Narcissa's near miscarriage and her discovery of Dark magic, the Cruciatus to be exact. He pictured Draco's glittering, insane eyes. Saw again Susan's crumpled, sobbing face.

Hate surged through his veins. It steadied him, put everything in perspective, and reminded him of the consequences of making a mistake with the evil bastard. Eyes cold, shoulders square, he stalked through the hallways he knew so well. He kept his expression completely blank despite the anger burning in his belly. He wasn't about to give Voldemort an ounce of satisfaction. Whatever the cause of this meeting, he was going to make it clear that he was not at the Dark Lord's beck and call, that he would not be made into a plaything.

The doors to the throne room were shut, but he could hear a murmur of voices from inside. This made Harry pause. He'd expected to be meeting with Voldemort alone. Obviously he was being forced to partake in whatever drama the Dark Lord had staged. His mouth softened in satisfaction. He'd left his school robes behind, which left him in a pair of slacks and a plain grey sweater. Hopefully Voldemort would recognize the slight for what it was.

He pushed open the doors. A quick glance revealed that more than Death Eaters were present. There had to be at least fifty people in the room. They stood in loose rows with an open aisle down the center, giving Harry a clear view of the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord lounged indolently on his throne, his chin propped up in one fist while the other tapped rhythmically on the opposite armrest. His nearly black hair was spelled back out of his face, leaving his eyes visible and surrounded by white, white skin. His nose was flat and wide but not abnormal looking, and his thin lips did not distract from his sharper than normal teeth. The robes he wore looked like simple black, but as Voldemort straightened, Harry made out midnight blue threads that formed sensuous patterns. Compared to the monstrous form before their switch, Voldemort looked remarkably human. In Harry's opinion, this made the Dark Lord more terrible. People expected atrocities from a monster, but from someone that could be human it always took you by surprise.

"Ah, Harry," Voldemort practically purred. "Come here."

Harry clenched his teeth and ruthlessly shoved down his temper. Voldemort was an amoral megalomaniac, but he was needed if they were going to survive this war. Scrimegeour had been correct when he'd called the Dark Lord a necessary evil. That meant Harry had to toe a very thin line, humoring the monster but also making it clear he wouldn't be pushed around. So instead of saying something scathing, Harry forced himself to remain cool.

"What is this about," he asked calmly, eyes never leaving Voldemort and purposefully ignoring everyone else in the room.

The Dark Lord smiled. It wasn't amused or affectionate; it was _hungry_. "Your presence is required to clear up a little issue."

Harry moved unhurriedly down the aisle. "Next time you write me, be clearer as to why I should come or I might not find it worth my while to do so."

Voldemort tipped his head back and laughed. When he finished, he grinned dangerously down at Harry. "Oh, I assure you it will always be worth your while."

Coming even with the first line of Death Eaters, Harry stopped. Movement drew his attention to the left where five sixth year Slytherins were forced to their knees by the heavy chains wrapped around their torsos. Their arms were bound together in front of them, marking them as prisoners. His eyes snapped back to the Dark Lord's, but he said nothing.

Voldemort's smile widened. "I believe you know my guests."

Harry remained silent and forced his expression to convey how unimpressed he was. Voldemort didn't seem to be bothered. The Dark Lord stood and glided over to the pale and shaking teenagers, still smiling that dangerous smile. Harry watched every move through narrowed eyes as Voldemort gently stroked Pansy's hair.

"They were just telling me how ignorant they were of the consequences of their actions."

Voldemort spun and advanced on Harry, seeming to almost swoop down on him. Harry let his magic flare above his skin in warning that a touch would not be well-received. The Dark Lord took the hint and stopped just outside arm's reach.

"That's the question, isn't it, Harry? They are either my subjects who acted stupidly, or they are rogue Dark wizards operating in my territory." Voldemort's voice softened, taking on a lilting quality that had the hair on Harry's arms standing. "Either way, it's clear they attacked something of mine. My claim is written there on your forehead for all to see."

Harry reared back, nostrils flaring, instantly enraged. "Yours? Maybe you should get checked for Dark addiction again, if your delusions are coming back."

Voldemort moved so fast Harry had no time to flinch let alone dodge. He was struck brutally across the mouth. He staggered, bent nearly double as he clutched his cheek and bleeding lip. He looked up to find Voldemort no longer in front of him. The Dark Lord was towering over the Slytherins, who cowered away as far as the chains let them. All except Blaise. Blaise was staring back at Harry with pure hatred in his eyes.

Harry berated himself fiercely for his stupidity. He wasn't on a school yard trading barbs with a rival. This was the Dark Lord, and humiliating the man in front of his Death Eaters and whoever else was present wasn't smart, no matter the provocation. Not only did Harry have to maintain some degree of tolerance between them, the Slytherins' lives were on the line.

"_Enough,"_ Voldemort hissed furiously in Parseltongue. He lifted Pansy to her feet with a vicious grip on her chin. Blood welled where his nails pierced her soft skin. "Are you mine or are you not?"

A slender middle-aged man stepped forward to stand directly before the Dark Lord. "The Parkinson's are yours, my Lord." He sank to his knees and bowed his head.

His shoulder-length dark hair swept forward, hiding his expression from Harry's view. However, Harry had an excellent view of Voldemort, who leered down at the man and seemed completely unaware of the girl dangling from his hand.

"Is that so, child? Do you give yourself to my service freely?"

Pansy answered so softly, Harry barely made out her whispered, "…yes, my Lord…" Clearly, she was nearly mute with fear. Harry's hands clenched at his sides.

Voldemort's free hand lashed forward and grasped her left forearm. With a roar of wind, the ambient Dark magic saturating the room crashed down on the fragile girl. Despite having marked five himself, Harry still went rigid, certain he was about to watch as his classmate was torn limb from limb.

Pansy arched, her body stretched in a pose of perfect agony. Breath stolen with the agony, her scream was silent. It took less than a minute, but for her it likely seemed like hours. The Dark Lord released her, and she collapsed limply to the floor. She gasped several times, desperate for air; each exhale released a broken sob.

"Your name," Voldemort demanded coldly, eyes on the man.

"Braxton Parkinson," he answered evenly. "Pansy's maternal uncle, Head of the Parkinson line."

"Your arm, Parkinson."

Harry wanted to close his eyes, but he forced them to remain open. He'd learned from Severus the trick of turning his attention inward. It put distance between himself and what was happening around him. His thoughts drifted to the dark red letter he'd received, the words within promising a gift.

"I am Camden Bulstrode, Head of my family line. My daughter and I pledge our allegiance."

"Then give me your arm, Bulstrode."

The Slytherins had attacked him, tortured him, _hurt_ him. But he'd never felt animosity toward them for it. They'd only been lashing out because of what had been done to Draco. In fact, he felt indebted to them for what they were now suffering. Because of him, they were being tortured and marked.

It was Millicent's turn to scream as she was granted the Dark Mark.

So in a way, he'd been tortured by them because of Voldemort, and now he was being tormented further by having to watch this spectacle. To think the bastard had the gall to call this a _gift_. It was enough to make him want to say to hell with the world and end this monster once and for all.

"My Lord, I am Maddox Zabini, Head of the Zabini line. I would give myself to you in exchange for Blaise's life."

Harry blinked and focused on the scene before him. Pansy and Millicent were being held by two kneeling men. Both Braxton and Camden were keeping their heads down and their faces obscure, devoting most of their attention to the shaking and whimpering girls. His attention shifted to the side to see Voldemort facing off with the most beautiful black man Harry had ever seen.

Maddox Zabini had hair to his waist, done in hundreds of tiny braids. At least a dozen faceted beads of what looked to be sapphires and rubies shimmered in the torch light. His face was perfectly smooth, and his eyes hinted at a quick intelligence. Despite standing a good six inches shorter than Voldemort's nearly seven foot height, he didn't seem diminished in comparison.

Voldemort's expression went blank, his eyes becoming hooded. "You protest his being marked?"

"I wouldn't shame you by having my aunt's son in your august ranks," Maddox answered, voice remarkably deep and melodious.

Harry realized the Dark Lord was Legilimizing the wizard. He held his breath, magic poised and bladed beneath his skin. He wouldn't allow either Zabini to be murdered.

"Then he will be marked as a rogue," Voldemort responded with bloodthirsty pleasure. "And dealt with accordingly."

"Rather, make him my pet. I'll be responsible for him from this day forward, and you will not run the risk of having to deal with his foolishness again."

Tilting his face down to the expressionless teenager at his feet, Voldemort stroked a single bone-white finger down Blaise's dark cheek. "He would make an attractive servant."

"He is homely compared to me, my Lord." Maddox took a half-step to the side, making the beads in his hair chime softly. A tilt of his hips drew attention to his flat stomach and muscled chest.

Voldemort lifted his wand, swift and graceful. _"Crucio."_

In horrible contrast to the nearly gentle tone and movement, Maddox jerked up onto tiptoe before slamming down on his knees. The violent impact of bone on stone was silent under the deafening volume of the man's screams. Collapsing completely, jerking and spasming like a dying insect, Maddox writhed under the insanely powerful curse. Harry flinched, and Blaise's chains rattled as the teen instinctively tried to stop what was happening.

Voldemort loomed above his prey, contempt clear in his expression. "I won't bargain with you, _whore_. If I wanted your body, I'd just _take_ it."

Maddox went limp as he was finally released, but it took several minutes for his sobs to taper off into grunts and whimpers and then finally to hitched panting. Voldemort grabbed a handful of the man's beautiful hair and violently yanked his head up.

"You are not nearly as clever as you think you are, Zabini. Remember that." Flinging Maddox away, he turned on Blaise. "Swear yourself to my service or die, boy!"

Harry trembled with the urge to intervene, but he knew anything he did would only make things worse for everyone.

Blaise lowered his eyes submissively. "I pledge myself to your service, my Lord."

Voldemort snatched the teen's arm and stabbed his wand into his flesh.

Harry turned away mentally, even as rage and despair choked him. It took real effort to think of something else. Naturally, his mind went to his friends. He was deeply grateful for Luna's unwavering support. He'd been so damn lucky that she hadn't been hurt worse, and being re-gifted with her friendship today had felt almost like redemption. He loved her more than he could ever say, so he was glad she understood without him ever speaking a word.

"Give me your arm, Zabini, or your cousin dies slowly."

"My Lord." Maddox's once lovely voice had been reduced to a hoarse croak.

And Hermione… It had been exactly a week since she'd gone to Saint Mungo's. He fervently hoped she was healing and would return to school soon. He missed her terribly. She'd been the most brilliant and promising witch seen in decades, and now she might never achieve that potential. He didn't think he would ever forgive himself for what had happened to her.

"Vincent is loyal to you, my Lord."

"As is Gregory. It is an honor to have you take him into your service."

Maybe after he was finished at the Ministry tomorrow, he'd make a stop at the hospital, check in on her. Of course, Ron would be pissed if he didn't bring him along. Maybe he would ask McGonagall for permission for Ron to floo to Saint Mungo's and meet him there.

"Let me make this perfectly clear..." The sibilant voice drew his attention. Harry blinked and saw that Voldemort stood on the dais, looking straight at him. "Potter is off limits." The,_ He is mine!,_ went unspoken but was nonetheless heard by all.

Harry was tempted to bare his teeth, but instead kept his expression utterly devoid of emotion, as the Death Eaters obediently murmured their understanding.

Voldemort practically slithered off the dais, stopping directly in front of Harry. "How long did they hold you under the Cruciatus?" the Dark Lord asked, eyes-hooded and practically purring.

Harry drew his chin up, not impressed in the least. "Don't forget I am your equal, Riddle. I can take care of my own revenge."

Voldemort smiled an unholy smile. _"Tell me, Harry, or I'll just keep them under until they're drooling wrecks,"_ he hissed in Parseltongue.

"_I want no part of this,"_ he answered, voice tight and controlled. _"I'm not some bloody toy you can play with as you please! They're your servants and nothing to do with me now."_ With that, he turned his back in disgust and marched toward the door.

Voldemort's laughter rang through the room, shortly followed by the screams of his classmates. Harry was shaking, but he couldn't turn back. If he reacted, if he showed Voldemort he'd play this game, the bastard would continue to target the Slytherins just to get a rise out of him. Besides, he was almost certain Voldemort wouldn't follow through on his threat to break them completely. McGonagall would notice the missing teens, and the political situation was too delicate for Voldemort to get away with something like that. Still, he felt sick as he Apparated to the edge Hogwarts.

**xXxXxXx**

As was his want, Severus arrived early. The spiral staircase carried him up to the headmistress' office with its customary slow pace that never failed to irritated him. He could stand over a potion for hours upon hours, but when he moved, he did so with purpose and efficiency. However, despite the irritation he'd expected, he also felt strangely at ease.

The first week after waking up in a bizarrely altered world, he'd been flooded with so much anxiety, panic, and confusion that he'd done his best to shut everything down and focus on the facts. Now that he had talked to Potter, he felt he had his footing again, which in turn lead him to relaxing his Occlumency barriers. With his mental defenses lowered and his mind no longer in chaos, he was beginning to suspect the world wasn't the only thing that had been altered by his jump to the future.

Severus slipped off the staircase and through the already opened door to the office. McGonagall sat behind her desk, silvered hair in its customary bun and with half-moon glasses perched on her nose. Her face was more worn than Severus remembered and the warmth in her eyes was new, as was the answering sense of trust that echoed through him.

"It's nice to see you out of your rooms," she said with a small smile. "I hope to see you more often now that you've decided to rejoin us."

"If my studies allow," he answered with a haughty toss of his head. A large part of him was amazed that he was teasing the Head of Gryffindor, but he chose to let his newly acquired instincts guide him, wanting to see where it would lead.

McGonagall stared, expression intense, as she got to her feet and moved around her desk.

Severus tensed, instantly withdrawing behind his Occlumency shields.

The Headmistress came to a stop, not quite within reach. A frown turned down her thin lips. "Severus?"

He stared back at her, distant and calculating.

"I'm sorry." With a sigh, she lifted the glasses from her face. "I keep expecting your older self, and that's not fair to you. So many things were understood between us without words, but I should have said them nevertheless." Folding her hands before her, she met his eyes squarely. "I was wrong to trivialize the rivalry between my Gryffindors and yourself. I let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. After the attack at the shack, I understood the full extent of my culpability. I enabled them to continue down that reckless path, and it nearly destroyed them as well as cost your life."

If Severus had less self-control, he'd have been gaping. No one had ever apologized to him before. Not like this.

McGonagall shifted her attention to the portrait of Dumbledore. The Headmaster was asleep at his desk. "We were wrong." When she looked back at him, grief shadowed her features, and Severus felt an answering sorrow. "I'm proud to say that as colleagues we were able to overcome the past and work together. It is my greatest hope that we can do so again. Your talent and brilliant intellect are assets to this school, and your loyalty invaluable in a friend."

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this closed-minded, self-righteous old witch would actually compliment him and apologize for her part in the abuse he'd suffered in Hogwarts. Fortunately, he was saved from having to respond and likely embarrass himself by the arrival of Potter.

Potter stepped into the room without the cocky strut Severus remembered so vividly from James Potter, but more interestingly the welcoming smile that adorned this Potter's lips as he looked over at Severus sent a surprisingly strong spike of protectiveness and warmth through his veins.

He stood there, staring blankly as Potter and McGonagall exchanged words, reevaluating everything that had happened. It all made sense now. He would never have relinquished his hatred for all things Potter so quickly. Not even this situation was dire enough to explain the lack of aggression he felt when he looked at Harry Potter. That meant his suspicions were indeed true. His other self wasn't as gone as it had first appeared. Severus still possessed the emotional responses his older counterpart had formed, if not the memories.

Overwhelming relief nearly made his hands shake and his knees weak. He now had a map of sorts – no matter how vague – to navigate through this new world, and any returned bit of control he could scrape together was welcome indeed. Now that he was aware of the left over impressions, he could separate his natural responses from the inherited impulses and use them to help guide him in any given situation. Clearly the instinct to trust McGonagall hadn't led him false. The old witch had actually apologized to him and recognized his talents!

"Severus?"

He snapped back into focus and almost stopped breathing. Potter stood right next to him, his warm hand held gently to Severus' forearm. The deep green eyes were looking up at him from a distance no greater than five inches. Despite being considerably taller than the other teen, Severus felt vulnerable and exposed with those eyes on him. He jerked away and shut down his emotions.

"I'm ready," he said stiffly, guessing Potter had asked if he were ready to leave.

Thankfully, Potter didn't press the issue.

"Moody and I will follow you shortly for the strategy session," McGonagall informed Potter as she followed them to the large fireplace.

The teen merely nodded. He took a handful of powder and flung it down, calling, "Ministry of Magic!"

Severus mimicked him. The swirling sensation of the floo pulled him in, and he was completely taken off guard as his shields crumbled under a wave of completely irrational terror. He'd flooed only once since he'd woken seventeen years in the future, but he'd been so overwhelmed and in shock that he hadn't really been capable of reacting.

When he returned to his senses, he was standing discretely in a corner of the flooing room of the Ministry, a wall reassuringly at his back. Potter was standing in front of him, blocking Severus from the rest of the room. He was making a show of searching his pockets, as if he were the reason for the delay and not Severus. Cheeks burning, Severus shoved past the smaller teen, intending to stalk off, but Potter grabbed his arm. He spun, insults and threats on the tip of his tongue.

"I hate portkeys," Potter said evenly before turning and heading for the lifts.

Severus stared after him, shocked. There was no reason in the world for Potter to hand him a weakness in exchange for witnessing Severus' small breakdown. No reason except respect, understanding, and trust. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving down the rising emotion. He had no idea if it was his own or a leftover echo, but now wasn't the time for intense self-reflection. Steady once more, he opened his eyes and strode after his, dare he think it, friend.

The level with the Minister's office was just as Severus remembered from his own emancipation. It was a cross between a traditional English palace and a modern executive suite. The lift opened on a large round room with two branching hallways at the back, one to the right, one to the left. Between the two choices sat an ornate mahogany desk manned by a receptionist. The open space between the lift and the woman was filled with antique benches and chairs. Coffee tables were scattered here and there covered in recent magazines and the Daily Prophet.

Potter moved past the loitering politicians and supplicants as if they weren't even there. The receptionist looked up and her smile froze on her beautiful face. Severus watched recognition followed quickly by trepidation and irritation flash across her features. More interestingly, she said nothing to stop them as they walked past without even a hello. Severus wasn't sure if it was arrogance, ignorance, or something else completely that led Potter to so blatantly disregard protocol, but he was going to enjoy finding out.

Potter chose the left hallway, but he could have taken either. The two hallways formed a circular ring around the Minister's office. The inner wall was tastefully decorated with paintings and statues while the outside wall held dozens of doors to luxurious offices used by those currently in power. They saw no one as they made their way around the circle, until they drew closer to the Minister's office. Two Aurors stood guard duty, hands ready on their wand holsters.

Again Potter showed no awareness of the men and continued on to the desk of the Minister's personal secretary. Severus felt sweat slick his palms, afraid the teen would breeze right by and force the Aurors to open fire. Fortunately, Potter stopped a polite distance from the clearly tense woman.

"Mr. Potter," she acknowledged unhappily. The name on the plaque on her desk read Meredith Merryweather.

"I believe the Minister is expecting me," Potter answered, voice even and unconcerned.

Merryweather got to her feet, her hands pressing her robe flat around her hips. "Yes, Mr. Potter. You may go in."

Severus moved forward in Potter's wake but froze when the Aurors drew their wands with clear intent. Potter also stopped. He turned to face them, and power began to swell in the room. The temperature increased by one or two degrees and the light orbs brightened to the point that they all had to squint to see past the glare.

"The Minister wasn't expecting anyone else," the witch said nervously. "This is usually a private affair."

Potter never removed his gaze from the Aurors. "Is there some law preventing Mr. Snape's attendance?"

"N-No, sir." Merryweather whispered, wringing her hands.

Potter turned and headed for the Minister's door without another word, obviously considering the subject closed. Severus followed despite the fact the Aurors hadn't lowered their wands. He'd been left with no other choice. Potter had made it clear he wanted Severus with him and that he would act to protect him. Severus either had to trust in that or force the confrontation to continue. It was surprisingly easy to trust, and he found himself smirking as he stepped into the dim office of the Minister of Magical Britain.

The Minister's office was as he remembered it, but the Minster was vastly different. Severus had done his research and knew the current Minister was one Rufus Scrimegeour, previous Head of MLE, but seeing him in pictures was not the same as meeting the man in person.

Scrimegeour was compactly built, much like Potter, though he was taller. The way his eyes followed their movement across the office without blinking gave the man a predatory air. He was clearly intelligent because it took an above average intellect for a military man to overcome the deep distrust between the warrior class and the aristocracy. This combination made Scrimegeour vastly more dangerous than the normal empty-headed politician.

"I was given to believe this would be a private affair," Potter drawled, tone almost playful.

Severus glanced at him and saw a small, cold smile on the teen's face. He was clearly not pleased that there were three other people present, only one of which Severus knew. He would never forget Kingsley Shacklebolt for as long as he lived.

"For the petitioner, it usually is," the Minister responded with an answering smile. "The minor usually doesn't come with family, or why the need for emancipation? It's also a time one usually wishes to express independence."

"I'm sorry, I haven't had the pleasure," Potter said, turning to the others in the room and dismissing Scrimegeour completely.

Severus was watching closely and saw the Minister's left eye twitched minutely. He silently applauded Potter's skill in taking command of the situation.

"I am Trisha Glenwood, Department Head of Wizarding Child Services." The petite brunette stood and shook Potter's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am here merely as a witness, so that I can alter your files to make it official that you are no longer under our jurisdiction."

"I see." Potter gave the woman a charming smile. It transformed his face, making him look his age instead of like a dangerous Lord-level wizard. "Thank you for coming." He turned to the next lined up in front of the Minister's desk and, much to Severus' satisfaction, his smile disappeared and his cold glare returned. "Shacklebolt. I thought you had been removed from duty until you underwent some more training."

"I am still Head of MLE," the Auror answered stiffly. "I participate in the training courses in my free time."

"And you're here because?"

"I'm here to be sure you understand the Ministry's laws and the consequences of breaking those laws as an adult."

Potter lifted an eyebrow and turned to the last.

The Minister finally stepped in. "This is Redford Bellview. He is Gringott's Overseer. He will confirm to the goblins that you are indeed recognized as an adult in the Ministry's eyes and are solely responsible for all your monetary possessions henceforth."

Bellview was old and clearly not a fan. The man stared at Potter as if he were the devil incarnate. "Potter," he spat, voice low.

Potter didn't give him any special notice, merely turned to the Minister and waited expectantly.

Scrimegeour waved at Shacklebolt with another false smile. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Severus remembered this part. It was long and tedious in the extreme. The Ministry had a lot of laws, and even though they would only cover the main ones, it would still take nearly an hour to outline their purpose and describe the possible consequences of being convicted of breaking said laws.

"Severus Snape…"

He turned his attention from Potter and Shacklebolt to the old man. He noticed the Minister was also watching him. He kept his stance completely unconcerned, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. "Yes?"

"You have a talent, Snape, for enticing stronger wizards to protect you," Bellview growled. "First the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore, now Potter. You must be quite skilled at licking boots."

Severus narrowed his eyes. He'd noted Potter's knowledge of the punishment Shacklebolt had been assigned. Bellview now confirmed his suspicions. It hadn't been McGonagall to bail him out with the Ministry. It had been Potter. His heart began to kick hard and fast against his ribs, but he kept tight control of his features. He wouldn't give these bastards the pleasure of seeing him startled.

"Is there a point to this?"

"Just that you're running out of Lords to hide behind, Snape. One day you'll be held accountable for your sins."

"As will we all," he drawled with clear disdain.

"Potter doesn't have nearly as much clout as he thinks he does," Bellview hissed.

"Is that right?" Severus looked away, feigning boredom.

"We're watching you."

Severus gave a chilling smile of his own. "In that case, maybe you'll learn something." With that, he moved up beside the witch. She turned to him with a polite smile. He asked about her department and nodded in all the right places as she nattered on about WCS. Most of his attention was on Potter, however.

He didn't know what to think about the teen. He still felt uncomfortable about his radically opposing feelings on the subject, but he had to admit this Potter had done nothing to him and had in fact protected him at great political cost to himself. His other self had clearly developed a strong friendship with the teen, and Potter was continuing that friendship despite Severus being changed. There were only two choices left, really. Severus could either continue to doubt or give in completely and accept Potter… no, _Harry_.

Green eyes glanced at him, checking his position and condition before returning to Shacklebolt's lecture. Severus felt a rush of exhilaration as he made his decision. Normally very meticulous, being impulsive was anathema to him, but it felt liberating to put all his cards on the table. He would stand with Harry.

"Is something funny?" Glenwood asked curiously.

Severus realized he was smiling and quickly wiped his expression clean. "Forgive me. You reminded me of something. Do continue."

She smiled at him happily. "Well, I was just saying that compared to the Muggle system, WCS has come a long way to monitor and protect the children of our society…"

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **So... Whatcha think? Huh? The characters of Voldemort and Severus are proving quite tricky to write. I have to go through their scenes several, and I do mean several, times before I think they're right. - P.S. Thanks, Saltwater. I know you're probably sick of going through them again and again with me. - So if you guys, the readers, like their portrayal/depiction, please let me know our hard work is apprecaited! And if you don't, if you think they're lacking, let me know in what way so I can continue to agonize over their scenes.... LOL!


	20. Politics

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the long delay. Hopefully this long chapter will make up for it a bit. Enjoy!

**Politics**

Voldemort arrived at the Ministry with Lord Crispin Lestrange on his right and Lord Lucius Malfoy on his left. Crispin's attendance was mandatory due to his position as witness. The elderly man was dressed impeccably in a traditional black robe with an elegant diamond cloak pin. His silver hair was gelled back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. Everything about his visage echoed the old ways, old power. Lucius was the perfect counterpart, which was why Voldemort had included him in his party. Lucius was the epitome of political power and the modern generation. The blond lord strode through the Ministry's halls as if he owned them. He was in the prime of his life, healthy and beautiful.

Every eye was trained on them. Fear hung thick in the air as the masses stood stiff, their arms close to their bodies and clutching books and parchments to their chests protectively. A few were able to muster up anger, but they were in the minority. Truly, they were all insignificant insects, meaningless in the great scheme of things, meaningless to the world. None of the Ministry employees spoke, not even to attempt to direct them. This pleased Voldemort greatly. It was only natural that he be left to go where he wished. He was powerful while they were worthless.

The invitation that Minister Scrimegeour had sent informed him the meeting of allies would be held in conference room four, but his presence was required early to approve changes made to the treaty. He reached the level of the Minister's offices and was greeted by a pale-faced witch. He regarded her coolly, drinking in the way she trembled.

"Lord, this way…"

He followed her at his own pace, letting her quick strides increase the distance between them. He was taken to an office. The witch opened the door and bowed, indicating he should enter. Voldemort did so, a smile touching his lips as he saw Potter already waiting inside. What Voldemort hadn't expected was to see the traitorous snake, Severus Snape, standing against the wall at Harry's back. Harry noticed his attention on the young-again Snape, and green eyes glittered dangerously, cold and unyielding. Voldemort's magic stretched luxuriously under his skin, hungry to cast the Cruciatus and drink in the boy's agony.

The night before had only wetted his appetite for Harry's particular brand of suffering, undiluted by begging, unpolluted by fear. Harry had a talent to endure beautifully, his torment pure without distractions or denials. Severus also had that talent. Perhaps he'd have an opportunity to play with them both again soon. Harry's eyes narrowed further, and Voldemort realized he was smiling. He let the smile grow wider, enjoying the show as the boy caged his hatred, knowing he couldn't let it loose.

"Lord Voldemort. Lord Potter."

He turned and saw the Minister had arrived. Four Aurors came with him as well as a redhead that was clearly a Weasley. Voldemort nearly sneered. The fact the man felt he needed to attend their private meeting so well-guarded revealed the truth of his position in the alliance. It was a sign of weakness, and had the situation been any different, Voldemort would have immediately wielded it as an effective weapon.

Scrimegeour stepped up to the large desk. The Aurors stayed back by the door. In his hands he held a small cask, which he placed perfectly centered on the desk. The Weasley stepped forward to open the cask and magic pierced the air, pulsing like a hungry tide. A white scroll unfurled, floating a foot above the desk, and Voldemort stared at the three signatures. The Minister's name in violet ink. Dumbledore's name in a faded yellow that had likely been gold. And his own. It was a near perfect imitation. The Dark magic bound to the document was his, no mistake. This was the treaty.

"We are gathered to acknowledge and accept a substitute for the Light Lord Albus Dumbledore upon his passing," Scrimegeour's voice droned on in the background. However, Voldemort was busy reading the terms of the document before him. He had Harry's memory of its original signing, which meant Voldemort had the boy's memory of reading it, but it was a different thing to read it for himself. He was not pleased the terms were so equally balanced, but he couldn't deny that it won him things that were worthwhile. Such as amnesty for past crimes and a rescinding of the laws that made it illegal to worship magic in the old way.

"I, Lord Potter, swear to uphold all promises made by Lord Dumbledore as if they were my own. My honor is his honor, this treaty is my treaty. I accept any and all consequences of the breaking of the alliance that the Light Lord agreed to," Harry said with confidence, his back straight, his expression serious.

"Do you accept Lord Potter as Dumbledore's replacement, Lord Voldemort?"

He flicked his eyes over the pompous man who had a far higher opinion of himself than was warranted, and he gave a deadly smile. "I do. I am satisfied that Lord Potter will uphold the treaty and will honor all the terms and agreements therein." As he spoke, he summoned the scroll to him and signed, the new signature replacing the old. He glanced up to see Harry's face perfectly blank. However, Voldemort didn't need a visible expression to tell him the boy was perfectly aware this was only happening because Voldemort was allowing it. Without his approval, Harry would have been rejected and the treaty made null and void.

Scrimegeour's eyes narrowed, the air around him thick with suspension, but he made no comment. "As Minister of the Magical Ministry of Britain, I also accept Lord Potter as the Light's representative." He also summoned the treaty and signed a second time.

It was Harry's turn and Voldemort watched as the teen signed, applying his own brand of Light magic. The treaty absorbed it hungrily. The angry pulsing steadied into a continuous hum, the balance restored. Harry stepped back. He was the picture of quite power and Voldemort nearly cackled because Harry was _his_. The witnesses, Crispin, Weasley, and Severus, also applied their signatures. The treaty flashed gold and settled back in the cask, the lid snapping closed with a very final thunk.

**O**

Severus watched, expression blank, as the Dark Lord practically devoured Potter with his eyes. He wasn't prepared for the surge of protectiveness and acidic hate that flared to life in response, and he scrambled to keep everything damped down behind his Occlumency. The Dark Lord was powerful; a dangerous enemy. He couldn't afford to allow even a hint of his surprising hate to surface. He would contemplate the surprisingly vehement emotional response when he was safe and alone back in his rooms.

For now Severus distracted himself by considering the conference room the Minister had led them to after the signing. It was one of the most opulent he'd ever been in and was situated only a floor above the Minister's offices. Pale yellow paisley wallpaper decorated the walls with golden sconces hanging at intervals with lit candles. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling directly above a large mahogany table that was the center piece of the room. It was polished to a mirror finish and could hold twenty comfortably. Place-holders sat in front of each luxurious chair, a name written in perfect calligraphy on the card.

The Minister stood by the seat of power at the head of the table, his four Aurors taking up a guarding position behind his back. The place cards indicated Potter should sit on his left and the Dark Lord on his immediate right. Severus watched as the Dark Lord swept over to his indicated seat, sneering faintly at the clutter of foreign wizards at the other end of the table. Lestrange, who didn't appear much older than Severus remembered, and Lucius settled into seats next to their Lord like well-trained hunting hounds. McGonagall and an old man with a magical eye sat in the seats next to Potter's. Severus decided to take up position against the wall at Potter's back. His position wasn't nearly high enough to sit among these wizards.

Scrimegeour gave a casual smile, still not sitting. The Minister didn't acknowledge the two Lord-level wizards at his side, his attention seemingly fixed on the foreign contingent. There were three men in their middle age, two dark in coloring and one blond. They had aids next to them at the table and servants, or possibly discrete bodyguards, standing a few paces away.

"Thank you for coming," Scrimegeour began in a solemn tone. "I wish to again convey welcome to the British Isles. I'm confident that working together we can find a permanent solution to our problem." The Minster finally deigned to notice the men at his sides. He gestured to the Dark Lord first, giving a respectful bow of his head. "Let me introduce you to the Dark Lord Voldemort." He repeated the gesture, this time indicating Potter. "And this is Harry Potter, Light Lord." Folding his hands in front of him, he gave a hard stare at the silent foreigners. "Lords, let me introduce you to Don Carlos Ruiz, Count de Villafranca and Ambassador of Spain. Baron Filippo Falconi, Ambassador of Italy. And Comte Auguste de Flahault de la Billardrie, Ambassador of France. Their countries have recently suffered attacks as we have."

"Thank you for coming. I'm willing to offer the services of my people to help put a stop to the attacks," Potter voiced, expression earnest and sincere, completely bypassing the political niceties and getting straight to the point.

Severus blinked, wondering if anyone had explained to the teen what was expected from this meeting. He had known the moment he'd walked in that this would basically be a meet and greet. By the subtle tilt of Moody's head and McGonagall's tensed shoulders, Severus guessed not and had to bite back an amused smile. This would prove interesting. The Minister had sat after the introductions while Potter spoke, but now he froze, his whole body going stiff.

"Graci, that is much appreciated," Baron Falconi answered after a brief hesitation.

"How much damage have you suffered?" Potter continued, oblivious to the confusion and suspicion aimed his way by the ambassadors.

The Minister opened his mouth, obviously intent on regaining verbal control, but the Dark Lord headed him off. His voice had a hissing quality that made it impossible to ignore. "And have you managed to learn anything of import about the attackers?"

"We've been attacked twice," Count Ruiz replied solemnly. "Nearly one hundred citizens killed. However, their magicless state renders the mind arts ineffective. In addition, they are skilled at evading capture."

"One attack," Baron Falconi said as he added his country's tally. "Nearly fifty dead. We managed to secure three prisoners of war, but they killed themselves in transport back to our facilities."

"We've suffered a single attack, as well," Comte de Flahault recounted, but he said it with a grimly proud smile of triumph. "Only twenty-seven of our magicians were murdered."

"They have poisoned capsules in their molars," Potter informed them. "Keeping them unconscious until you can remove the false teeth should work."

Severus wasn't the only one to look at the teen curiously. To his knowledge, Potter hadn't been in any of the battles with the Muggles, but he seemed to know an awful lot about them. His suspicions deepened when he noticed the Dark Lord was watching Potter with something akin to approval. Scrimegeour opened his mouth, but Voldemort again spoke first. It was clear to Severus, and likely everyone else in the room, that he was demonstrating who held the real power in Britain.

"As Harry said, if you neutralize their escape, they are rather easy to subdue. I managed to collect two specimens and was able to glean some useful information."

Excited murmurs swept the table, however the Minister and Potter remained blank-faced.

"It seems that during the chaos of the second Muggle world war and the coinciding rise of Lord Grindelwald, some select Muggles became aware of the existence of the magical world. They decided that wizards were the true threat to humanity and began preparations to eradicate that threat," the Dark Lord drawled lazily, obviously thrilling in the information he held over them all. "For the last sixty years, they've recruited retired and discharged military officers from all over the world. They are self-sufficient, dependant on no single country, and have bases throughout Europe. I suspect many of them are abandoned military compounds or bunkers built secretively under the earth. The equipment that they don't build themselves, they salvage from government disposal areas."

"Do you have any facts about their numbers or where some of their bases are located?" Scrimegeour inquired stiffly.

Severus hid a smile, feeling gleeful that the bastard was being taken down a peg or two. The Minister was obviously bothered that the Dark Lord had decided to reveal this information in a public setting instead of conferring with him in private to decide what should and shouldn't be revealed. He definitely wasn't coming out of this meeting with the same commanding image he'd arrived with. Interestingly, Potter wasn't nearly as smug over the Minister's difficulty. He caught Potter giving a sideways glance toward Scrimegeour, a frown tugging down his lips.

**O**

Harry wasn't exactly fond of the Minister and loathed Voldemort, but the balance must be maintained if they were going to survive. Therefore he wasn't pleased by the power-plays going on between the Dark Lord and Scrimegeour. Before he could decide what to do, the foreign leaders spoke up, spewing idiocy.

"This confirms the villains are a fringe group," Count Ruiz said, expression intense. "Our mundane counterparts continue to insist they have not authorized these attacks. We were uncertain if this was true or lie, so did not feel comfortable accepting their help. Now we can begin negotiations for assistance."

"Engaging norm defenses against these attacks may be our best defensive action," agreed Comte de Flahault.

Harry looked at them in dismay. "Inviting the Muggle governments into our Wizarding towns will reveal our every location. Even if the governments aren't officially cooperating with our attackers, they are still moving in the same circles. Any information we gave them will fall into enemy hands."

"Not getting help is a death sentence," Baron Falconi argued with a hot glare. "We cannot defend against these kinds of attacks successfully."

"We should not be so quick to dismiss the power of our magic," Harry snapped, hands clenching.

"Their equipment undermines our powers," Count Ruiz stated with contempt. "It is understandable that an idealistic child such as yourself does not understand the ramifications of the situation we are facing."

Harry tensed, surprised by the verbal slur.

"If you are so easily overwhelmed and unable to defend yourselves, then perhaps you should be eradicated," Voldemort said gently, Darkness practically coiled about his lean form. "Have you even tried to overcome the enemy, or have you run around squealing like pigs before the slaughter?"

Count Ruiz leapt to his feet, face red with rage even as the Voldemort gave a superior, hungry smile. Harry opened his mouth to intervene, but the Minster slammed his hand on the table, startling everyone into looking at him.

"Our enemy has had nearly seventy years to develop technology to neutralize our power. Even if we can't find a way around the null effect, we can certainly develop better preventatives and alarm systems. We can tap our Seers and create evacuation plans and safe areas. It is only good sense to exhaust our every recourse before we involve the Muggle governments." He turned his attention back to Voldemort. "Were you able to discover anything else from your prisoners, and will you give us access to them so we can ask our own questions?"

Voldemort drummed his long fingers on the table once in a rapid wave. His ruby eyes smoldered with remembered pleasure. "I'm afraid the specimens have been reduced significantly during the extraction process. You may have them if you wish, but their usefulness has expired."

Harry sighed, knowing everyone at the table would be suspicious of that convenient outcome and begin to question the veracity of the Dark Lord's information. Harry knew better. Voldemort wouldn't have brought them false claims. Not about this. Harry was certain Voldemort understood the seriousness of the danger they faced and would not endanger himself by weakening his allies. Not while things were tilted so far in the Muggle's favor, anyway.

**O**

Minerva wasn't impressed with the Dark Lord's information, vague and tantalizing as it was. She didn't believe he was lying, but she did fear Voldemort was keeping a few details to himself. She watched as the meeting, originally designed to let everyone get a feel for one another, descended into chaos.

She shot her new leader a look from the corner of her eye. She should have prepped him better for this meeting, but he'd handled the Order introduction so masterfully that she hadn't expected him to become so worked up at a political conference. He clearly expected decisions to be made and things to be done. Now. Of course, this made the foreign ambassadors balk and panic and suspect Britain of trying to control and/or subvert their countries. She shared a glance with Moody, who was amused by the whole thing. Minerva couldn't take it so lightly. Creating bad blood here would spell doom for the future.

"There will be no future to protect if we don't survive this! We need military help now! We'll deal with the consequences of revealing our society to the norms after this threat has been vanquished!"

"We are not too proud like the British! You spurn help even as you are brought down like deer."

"You say to wait, to work on the problem with magic, but you are not the ones dying. You can afford to urge caution, the attacks on Britain have stopped!"

Harry got to his feet, passionate and fierce, something she would normally admire, but while this was an asset in any conflict or on a battlefield, it was disastrous in the diplomatic arena. Unfortunately, her every subtle attempt to slow or quiet him went ignored. She didn't want to overtly shut him down. It would be devastating to his position if she were to undermine him here, in his first public act as Phoenix Leader.

"If you must have Muggle defenses, then teach your people to use them. Don't expose your people further to attacks," the teen said loudly over the din, actually shouting orders to foreign leaders. Minerva almost groaned. "It's basic strategy! It would be reckless to map out every magical village for any outsiders, no matter how helpful they appear. The Muggle governments may not be helping the enemy now, but if they are given an understanding of our numbers and realize the attackers are _winning_, they may turn to support them!"

Everyone was standing now, except for Minerva, Moody, and the Dark Lord. Voldemort watched as Britain danced closer to destruction through predatory eyes, and Moody sat there with grim chuckles vibrating his chest. The Minister was almost as bad, talking loudly in an attempt to regain control. Everyone else was shouting insults and fearful predictions. Minerva rubbed at her eyes. The meeting couldn't have been more disastrous if they'd planned it that way.

Suddenly thunder, familiar thunder, crashed and nearly deafened them all. Minerva stared up at Harry, shocked. That was her spell. She'd used it to quiet the Order meeting when it had gotten out of hand. She hadn't taught it to the boy and, yet, here he was, using a spell he'd only witnessed once and completely unaware of how miraculous that was.

"Listen to me," Harry said, voice clipped, eyes radiating power. "We've become complacent in our magic. We've begun to take it for granted. We need to remember the fierce and awesome power we possess. Turning to the Muggles for protection is admitting we are lesser. We might as well put our wands away and become Muggle citizens if we need them to protect us! Are we wizards or are we not?"

"Let us adjourn to think over the information we have received. A decision regarding Muggle and Wizarding relations should not be made in haste," Scrimegeour cut in, using the silence to intelligently beat a hasty retreat.

Minerva stood and guided Harry to the door. He went before her without resisting. Something to be grateful for. She almost jumped, startled, as a black-clad figure stepped up to walk at Harry's side. She'd forgotten Severus had been in the room. The young man bent down to murmur in the teen's ear as they made their way to the flooing chamber, his straight black hair curtaining his face so no one could read his lips. She was pleased to note the tension in Harry's shoulders begin to relax even as he shook his head sharply once in response to whatever Severus had said.

"Well, I didn't feel like falling asleep in that one," Moody remarked next to her.

"Wouldn't want you to sleep through the end of the world as we know it," she snapped back, peevish. "Don't encourage him, Moody. He needs to understand he can't just tromp around. He has to adhere to the proper forms if he expects to gain allies."

"We'd all be dust before we got what we needed through the proper forms, Minerva," Alastor argued gently. "We are at war. We need to act. We need to set a fire under these complacent politicians. Harry is quite good at that. I think Albus was absolutely right with his choice in successor. Harry may be the only one who can possibly save us."

"We shall see," she answered, back stiff. She didn't agree. Not at all. There was a time and place for all things. Harry had to learn that.

**xXxXxXx**

The next morning, Harry's ears were still ringing from the lecture McGonagall had subjected him to after the debacle at the Ministry. A very long lecture that left him feeling like an ignorant school boy, not to mention frustrated. "You represent the Light, Mr. Potter. You can no longer afford to act in any manner you please," she'd said. He hadn't been able act freely in years! How dare she imply that he had no concern about the bigger picture, when his whole childhood had been sacrificed to its cause!

He understood her concerns, but this was _war_. They didn't have time for politics. "We don't have time to alienate our allies and go through the long process of apologizing, either," had been her stiff response. Then she proceeded to rehash the meeting and point out his every mistake with detailed explanations on what he should have done.

Growling, Harry gave his friends a brief summary, hitting all the main points with arm waving and scowls, during the ten minute walk from the Tower to the Room of Requirement. Ron and Neville listened intently at his side. Harry wasn't surprised Neville's grandmother had granted him permission to train. Madam Longbottom appreciated the value of being prepared in a war.

"That's rough, mate. I mean, you'd think the ambassadors would be thrilled to cut through the dung and jump on any promise of assistance," Ron remarked.

"They didn't seem interested in magical help," Harry answered as he ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier. "They were pretty insistent that only Muggle means could save them."

Ron snorted, his opinion of that clear. Neville shook his head. When Harry came to a stop at the top of the stairs, the two teens turned curiously. Ron wore a frown. "What?" he asked.

"I'm waiting for someone."

Ron lifted an eyebrow, and Harry couldn't help grinning, feeling mischievous. Ron's reaction was going to be hilarious. Harry felt a twinge at setting Severus up like this, but he dismissed the guilt. Severus could handle whatever Ron did, and Harry was standing right there, anyway. He wouldn't let either of his friends get hurt.

"What's with that look?" Ron demanded suspiciously.

Harry's grin widened. "You'll see."

"We better not be late," the redhead grumbled.

Neville shifted and shot a worried look down the corridor. "You _really_ don't want to be late."

"We won't be," Harry said confidently. Severus had always been the punctual sort.

True to his expectations, Severus came up the stairs to meet them not a minute later. He wore a simple black robe suitable for dueling, much like they did, and his hair was pulled back into a high, short ponytail. Without his black hair curtaining his face, the high cheek-bones, clear fair skin, and large intelligent eyes were displayed for all to see. Harry felt his stomach flutter and hoped his cheeks weren't red. He quickly turned his attention to Ron, hoping for a distraction from his insane hormones. Ron's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and suspicion, while Neville looked only mildly curious.

"Who…?" Ron began.

Harry helpfully made introductions, his grin coming back full force. "Ron, Neville, this is Severus. He's apprenticing at Hogwarts and decided to participate in the training. Severus, this is Ron Weasley, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, and Neville Longbottom, my dorm mate."

"Wait… Severus? Severus _Snape?_" Ron's mouth literally gaped open in utter shock.

Neville actually squeaked. "Professor Snape?"

"Not exactly the Snape we knew," Harry pointed out cheerfully. "He's from 1979. He doesn't remember anything after then."

Ron continued to stand speechless, mouth moving soundlessly.

Harry shot a sly grin Severus' way and bumped his friend's arm. "We should go. You said you didn't want to be late."

"But_… How?_" Ron followed docilely, unable to reconcile the image of his hated Potions professor and the teenager walking with them.

Severus sneered, unimpressed. "Magic."

Neville blushed hotly in embarrassment even though he hadn't been the one to ask the question. He shifted so that Harry stood between him and his former professor and ducked his head, hoping not to be noticed. Harry, of course, noticed all of this and gave his friend a smile. "Really, Neville. Severus isn't like he was."

"If you say so, Harry," the teen answered, still uncertain.

"And you're _friends?_ How in the holy hell did that happen? _When_ did this happen?" Ron demanded, cutting in.

Harry shrugged, trivializing it and hiding his sudden anxiety. "It happened right after Dumbledore's death. I've been helping McGonagall get him settled and discovered we have a lot in common."

If Severus asked the Gryffindors about Harry and his adult counterpart overcoming their animosity, they would only deny any such ridiculous claim. Then Severus would question just how they'd become such good friends, and Harry was still not ready to go there. Ever. Even thinking about his time as the Dark Lord had a cold sweat break out along his face and neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw Severus was watching them, but his expression was blank and impossible to decipher.

Fortunately for Harry's peace of mind, they reached the Room of Requirement and Severus' sharp attention was directed elsewhere. It seemed they were the last to arrive. Harry's eyes widened at the number of students present. A good portion of the seventh and sixth years were in attendance and already broken into three groups. Two Aurors Harry didn't recognize stood in front of one third, Moody and Tonks led the second group, while Thornfinn Rowle and Rodolphus Lestrange commanded the last.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and Harry read a question in his eyes. He shrugged and nodded slightly at the Dark group. He knew Severus was Dark inclined and didn't want his friend to think he was obliged to be neutral because of his connection with Harry. Harry had no problems with those who practiced Dark magic; it was the evil uses those magics were put to that Harry protested.

Severus inclined his head very slightly and slipped into the group in front of the Death Eaters. Harry was surprised that the group had nearly as many Ravenclaws as Slytherins. Then again, the students in front of Tonks and Moody were almost half and half Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. The Aurors were teaching a pretty mixed group from all four Houses. A quick count, including Severus and Harry, revealed there were ten Dark, fourteen Light, and fifteen neutral students; thirty-nine in all.

Ron and Neville gave smiles as Harry stepped up next to them and his wandering thoughts were cut short as training began. It was completely different from his experiences with the Death Eaters or the Order. Not being adults or proficient with spells, first they had to perfect higher class spells that would be useful in battle.

Each group faced separate walls where mannequins were lined up. The dummies were exquisitely detailed, looking very lifelike, and Harry realized it was to desensitize the students from attacking another human being. It was surprisingly difficult to maim or kill unless driven by rage. Unconsciously, most hold back, and it is this instinct that is the first to go in combat training. Harry was further impressed when the dolls flashed red if the spell cast on it was done perfectly. This would make them associate the color with success, hopefully to make the first time blood is drawn less traumatic.

As Harry watched the other two groups practice, he noted the differences between the three aspects of magic. Light and Dark had nothing to do with right or wrong, good or evil. Light magic was the essence of creation while Dark magic was destruction. Moody and Tonks had them drilling in two spells, one fire, one lightning. Surprising to some, almost all Light offensive magic dealt with fire. Fire created heat and light. It also transformed what it burned, not truly destroying physical matter, no matter what it seemed to the human eye.

From what Harry could see, the Death Eaters were teaching the Killing Curse and a decapitation spell. Two spells whose purpose was to destroy; creating nothing. The Aurors were instructing their group on the Blasting Curse and an incarceration spell. The first created energy and used it to destroy. The second was neutral, doing neither one nor the other. There were varying degrees of success in each group, but Harry was relieved to see none of the students were out-right failing.

They drilled for an eternity it felt like. The hours stretched and blurred. Thirst had long since been a throbbing need. Harry's robes clung and stuck uncomfortably, damp with sweat. The incantations of the two spells repeated endlessly through his brain, his lips in near constant movement despite no sound being produced. He had to brace his wand arm with his left, and still they both shook and trembled. His right hand was numb, but still he kept firing pulse after pulse of magic.

_Pyrus ophis! Fourdre!_

"All right! Enough!" Moody barked, jarring Harry out of his trance. "Get some water. You have ten minutes."

Drooping, arms throbbing, Harry stumbled over to the side where pitchers of water and cups sat on a table. He was so focused on the heavenly liquid he hardly noticed Ron jostle him out of the way or Neville slide down the wall gulping and guzzling his own glass. Harry had three re-fills before the table vanished and Tonks cracked a whip, laughing manically.

"Run, ya fools. Run!"

Harry groaned. The Room had become a large running track. The whip cracked again, this time right next to his ear. He jumped and broke into a jog. Ron and Neville matched his pace. They passed some and were passed. It didn't matter. They just had to keep moving or be struck with the whip and not just by Tonks. All the teachers were armed, and it stung like bloody hell when they were struck. The whips had to be magical, though, because they didn't break the skin or rip their clothes. Not that it didn't feel damn real.

They ran until their legs matched their arms, suddenly ten times their normal weight, alternating between numb and throbbing hotly. When the instructors finally had mercy and called a halt, Harry stumbled over to the nearest wall and sat next to Neville. Ron dropped next to him with a groan. Moody came around with cups of water, but Harry could hardly lift it to drink the precious water. He didn't even have the strength to wipe at the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His lungs burned and his left leg cramped horribly.

They only had thirty minutes to rest before Moody was barking at them, ordering them in the center of the room with the other students. The teachers circled them, their expressions almost malicious. Harry stared back at them, dumb with exhaustion. A glowing silver ball about the size of a basketball was conjured and tossed in the middle of the group by Thornfinn. The hellish game began.

If the ball touched the ground, it exploded, sending those closest to the blast sprawling and convulsing painfully for a full thirty seconds. If the ball didn't contact a teacher after a minute, it exploded. If the same person touched it twice in a row, physically or magically, it exploded. If two people touched it at one time, it exploded. Worse, they had to _move_ to catch the damn thing.

The game certainly taught teamwork. The students had to watch each other as much as the damn ball. If they didn't work in concert, then they were doomed. Fortunately, all animosity between Dark and Light, House rivalries, or relationship problems were forgotten as they united in the face of their tormentors.

Soon there were two, then three balls in motion. In a trance state due to severe fatigue, Harry became aware of everything around him. It was like standing in the ocean, moving with the ebb and flow of the tide of humanity around him. The balls exploded pretty frequently, and it was painful, loud, and blinding. A few students fainted or fell, retching from overexertion. Those standing tried to protect them as best they could. Harry was constantly blinking black dots out of his eyes. He couldn't feel his feet or hands at all. His chest burned painfully and a headache throbbed behind his eyes. His breath roared in his ears.

"Thirty minutes!" an Auror barked. "Then break into your groups for drills!"

As one, they all collapsed to their knees or fell prostrate.

"Guzzle some water and get your arses in gear, you worthless brats! We've got more work to do!" Moody yelled.

Dripping sweat and panting, Harry shot a wry glance to his left. Severus returned it with one of his own. During the ball war, they'd found themselves back-to-back, working together as if they'd done it all their lives. Harry was deeply grateful that the rapport he'd built with Severus hadn't disappeared completely. He'd grown used to Severus at his side during battle, and it had been a huge relief to have him there again.

"Here." Ron dropped next to him, holding a pitcher. He shared it with Harry and Severus. Neville brought another and was sharing it with Cormac and a Hufflepuff. "You two fight together like you've done it before."

Harry tossed his head in a shrug. "Told you. We have a lot in common." He leaned against Ron and closed his eyes. Ron shifted his weight, bracing him.

"Why are you so tired? Thought you were Lord-level."

Harry suspected the question would've been waspish if the boy'd had the energy for it. "Am," he answered easily, not bothering to see who'd spoken. He jerked his arm, hopefully bringing attention to the metal cuff on his right wrist. "Magical suppressor. A bit more potent than the null effect. Moody gave it to me for training."

Silence descended as the group contemplated that. Null bombs rendered average wizards nearly powerless, and Harry had kept up with them in drills with a suppressor.

"Who are you, anyway?" demanded a new voice. Harry guessed they weren't talking to him and smiled faintly, enjoying not being in the hot seat for once.

"Severus Snape," Severus smooth voice came out of the darkness to his left. "I'm from 1979, no I don't remember being your teacher, and yes, it was done by magic."

More silence descended. Inwardly, Harry chuckled. This was nice. So much better than whispers behind his back and corridors full of staring students. Just simple questions, simple answers, and peace. Of course, as soon as he thought that, a chill ran down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His eyes snapped open and he glanced around, only to find luminous grey eyes pinned on him. Despite being exhausted, his heart rate picked up as guilt and fear, pity and hate, nearly tore him in two.

"What's up, Ferret?" Ron asked with narrowed eyes.

Draco smiled, never looking away from Harry.

Harry almost whimpered. The feeling of weakness and hands on his body, of pain and pleasure, and Draco's cum on his tongue, overwhelmed his senses as if it were happing again. Right there. Defensively, Harry tore his eyes away, trying to close all avenues inside himself. He felt defenseless and vulnerable in a way that brought back his childhood with the Dursleys. Of being chased and hunted, helplessly held down while his cousin beat him, knowing if he tried to defend himself he'd only be punished worse when he returned to the house.

"You okay? Look like you've seen a ghost," Neville said worriedly.

Bile burned the back of Harry's throat, but before he could flee, he caught sight of Severus looking away from Draco. Dark eyes met his own. Flinching, Harry was about to drop his eyes again when he realized Severus wasn't cold or calculating. There was understanding in his expression.

Severus knew true helplessness the way Harry did. He didn't judge, or find fault, or offer pity. He _understood_. Bolstered, Harry straightened his shoulders. He wasn't that little kid anymore. And he wasn't weakened from torture at the hands of the Slytherins, either. If Draco tried anything like that again, Harry could and would defend himself, regardless of the guilt he felt over what Draco had suffered in his absence.

"Time's up, kiddies," Rodolphus' voice reached them, making all of them wince. "On your feet. To your groups. Or come play with me, one on one."

They scrambled away from the sadistic look on the Death Eater's face and got into position with their groups for more drills. Instead of dummies, they faced Moody and Tonks. The Order members demonstrated how to form a shield that would deflect physical matter only. When they roughly had it down, their teachers summoned a large pile of beads and began to cast the Propulsion Charm on them one after another, flinging them at the line of students.

Harry had no idea what other spells were on the damn things, but if they hit, they sent a jolt of extreme heat searing along the nerves. Unfortunately, the relatively easy shield was nearly impossible to maintain after the magical and physical exertion that had come before. He was hit again and again, until his breath came in wet sobs and he began to sink to his knees under the strain.

"Cover me," he croaked.

Ron wasn't doing much better, but he did as commanded, stepping in front of Harry.

"Not working," Harry gasped, breathless. "Shield in shifts."

Neville caught on and stepped in front of Ron when the redhead faltered. Then Cormac took point. Then Somerland. Until Harry steadied and took his turn. They alternated to allow a few minutes breathing room for each person when it got to be too much. The other groups caught on and began to copy the maneuver. Moody gave Harry a toothy smile that told him he'd impressed the old man. Harry couldn't care less at this point. He just wanted to survive the day.

An eternity later, the beads dropped to the floor. The students stood there, dazed, blinking dumbly at their teachers.

"Go eat dinner and get to bed. Be back by dawn or face the consequences," one of the Aurors ordered with a wave at the door.

"Aren't we gracious?" Thornfinn asked sweetly, eyes glinting. "You get six full hours of sleep."

Harry had no response for that. Six hours until dawn meant they'd been training seventeen hours. It felt like so much longer. He moved, head hanging, feet dragging, after Ron and Neville. There was no way he could make it to the Great Hall and then get through dinner without passing out. He had no idea how his friends had done it last time.

"Knew they'd be worse when they worked together," Ron muttered to himself. "Wish they'd go back to hating each other. Stupid ball game from hell and evil beads. What the bloody hell? Who comes up with this stuff? Sadistic bastards."

Harry grimaced. So he'd just been unlucky enough to come on the day the teachers cooperated with each other to make their lives hell. Of course.

"Here."

He lifted his head to see Severus handing him a potion. Harry lifted his two ton arm and took the potion, not bothering to ask what it was or why Severus was giving it to him. The potion settled in his stomach like warm sunshine and suddenly dinner didn't seem so impossible. In fact, he was ravenous.

"Thanks," he said with a smile.

Severus smiled back.

"Come on, guys. Let's go to the kitchen."

Ron and Neville groaned but allowed themselves to be pulled along.

"You, too, Severus," Harry added when the dark-eyed teen didn't follow. "I'm sure you don't want to deal with the other students right now."

"True." Severus fell into step with him. "I appreciate the escape."

Neville gasped, blinking owlishly, and Harry laughed. "Yes, he thanked me. You aren't dreaming."

"What was in that potion?" Ron grumbled irritably, making Harry laugh again.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus had only been at drills for a couple of hours, but he wasn't fully recovered from the day before, potions or no. Already his hand was shaking, which made aiming damn difficult. Sweat rolled slickly down his back and dampened his face. He was very glad these intense training sessions only happened on the weekend and during the week they'd only train four hours after classes. Had they been every day, Severus was sure he'd die. So when McGonagall appeared, summoning Potter and him, he wasn't complaining.

Severus silently watched the green-eyed Lord slip off the suppressor cuff and hand it to Moody before joining them at the door. The sheer power the teen had access to was unbelievable, but what truly baffled Severus was Potter's attitude. When he set aside the leader role, he behaved like any other teenager, if more humble and friendly than was normal. No other leader would endure these torture sessions in the guise of training, let alone as a lowly grunt. Severus could maybe attribute it to Potter's young age, but teenager or not, no Lord he had ever heard of would submit to a suppressor for any reason.

"What's happened?" Potter asked worriedly as they were led away from the Room of Requirement at a fast clip.

"The press are here," she answered shortly. "Denying them will only make things worse."

Severus lifted an eyebrow curiously as Potter scowled. The teen's magic vibrated around him like the warning rattle of a rattle snake. "What are they on about now?" he asked with surprising coldness. It was only reporters, after all.

"You, Mr. Potter." McGonagall opened a door to a classroom just short of the entrance hall and ushered them in. "When are they ever on about anything else."

Severus had copies of the newspapers for the last ten years, so he was familiar with the bipolar attitude the press held about Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Still, he was rather taken aback by the Headmistress' obvious dislike. He hadn't come across any articles abusing her. Besides, he didn't think she would want to encourage Potter's animosity, especially as they were about to face the jackals.

"They are also here to see you, Severus." She gestured at the change of clothes she'd had fetched. "Get dressed and freshen up. Who knows what those vultures are thinking up while they cool their heels."

They hurried toward the robes, but as he passed the Headmistress, he gave her a significant glance and tilted his head in Potter's direction. The teen was audibly grinding his teeth. Her eyes narrowed, and he busied himself with dressing and casting grooming charms as she set in on the young Light Lord.

"Don't forget what we talked about, Potter. This calls for diplomacy. You have a long career ahead of you, and the press will always be a factor. It's best not to make enemies among their ranks."

The lecture went on for a few more minutes, and Severus watched Potter blank his expression and stand stoically against the verbal onslaught. The teen's control was really quite remarkable, especially considering his naturally open and passionate nature. When McGonagall finally wound down, she swept out of the room, commanding them to follow. Severus fell into step with Potter, wanting to soften the empty look in those green eyes.

"Picture them as unruly toddlers playing dress up whom you are humoring," he advised. Potter looked at him, still blank, and Severus cast him a sly look. "Spankings are always an option if they begin to throw tantrums."

Potter laughed, his eyes sparkling with his innate spirit once more. Then they were stepping out of the castle. Severus' smug feeling didn't last long as dozens of blubs went off. His mouth went dry as he looked at the nearly fifty reporters and photographers crowded in front of the school. Instantly they were bombarded with questions, the wave of sound almost making him flinch back. Five Order members in red battle robes held the mob at the foot of the castle steps as they pressed forward.

"Enough!" McGonagall's voice snapped over the din, magically amplified. "Please maintain proper decorum, or I'll have you escorted off the premises. All your questions will be answered in due time."

He had thought he knew what to expect, but standing here before the bloodthirsty hoard with hungry eyes and toothy grins, exposed and on display, it was all together a different thing. He suddenly understood perfectly Potter's attitude and marveled that it had been so tame. He never wanted to do this again. Nerves made his breath fast and shallow, and he folded his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

"Vitus Appelgate, Wizarding Times," a tall blond called from the front. "Mr. Potter, is it true you have ascended to Dumbledore's position as leader of the clandestine Light military group, the Order of the Phoenix?"

"While the Order does have combat experience, I'd like to remind you that it is not a military group. The purpose of the Order, first and foremost, is to remember and continue the old practices of the Light. Albus recommended me as his successor, and the Order has agreed to a probational period to determine if I am the right person to lead the group in these trouble times."

Severus slanted a glance to the Lord at his side. Potter was all poise and nobility, truly the leader he was named. As much as he was the teenager who complained about training with his friends, and the powerful wizard who challenged the Dark Lord in a shack, and the frightened boy who came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy after being sexually assaulted. It nearly made him dizzy trying to keep up with the many facets of the teen's complex personality, but it was incredibly exhilarating as well. Certainly, Severus would never be bored by this Potter.

"Mr. Potter! Catherine Valentine, Witch's Weekly. Is it true Dumbledore was your guardian and you were emancipated last Friday following his death?"

Severus thought the question innocuous, but Potter tensed.

"Yes, Ms. Valentine. I was emancipated."

"When was he made your guardian, Harry? And why wasn't the public informed?" a woman in pink robes and wearing blond curls asked almost sweetly. Her eyes, however, revealed she was a predator on the hunt.

"I wasn't aware I was legally required to make an announcement," Potter answered stiffly.

"Before Dumbledore, you were in the care of your mother's Muggle sister, Petunia Evans Dursley, isn't this right?"

Severus quickly caught McGonagall's eye as he felt Potter's magic begin to rattle in warning once more.

"Please introduce yourself before asking questions," the Headmistress interrupted with a stern look at the offending woman. "And only ask one question please."

"Harry knows who I am," the woman argued and simpered up at Harry in the most sickening fashion.

Potter turned his attention to a different reporter and nodded his head, ignoring the woman completely.

"Matilda Cattlebrook, the Magical Tribune. How long has Dumbledore been training you to take his place?"

"I've been singled out since birth due to the prophecy," he answered smoothly, even granting the reporter a smile. "Albus always did his best to prepare me for whatever difficulties my future would hold."

"Does that include allowing you to grow up in an abusive household? To prepare you for your difficult future?"

Absolute silence descended as everyone froze and turned to look at the blond reporter. Severus tensed, utterly shocked. He shot McGonagall a look and saw she was staring at Potter much as he was. The teen's stony expression all but screamed that the accusation held some truth.

"I have here a Muggle newspaper article dated just this last summer," the woman continued, clearly thrilling in the attention that was on her. "It has the most interesting article about severe child abuse. The perpetrator was arrested. One Vernon Dursley, husband to Petunia Dursley. It says here the abused is their nephew. Wouldn't that be you?"

Potter visibly took a deep breath, but that didn't tame the magic that now produced an audible hum around him. The crowd of reporters leaned away, opening a space around the woman. Severus couldn't tear his eyes away from the pale face and furiously blazing eyes.

He couldn't believe that bitch reporter had shoved child abuse in his face during a public press conference, especially if the accusation was true, and it looked like it was. Merlin's beard, the son of James Potter, the arrogant bully, _Lily's_ son, abused? Severus shuddered as old memories stirred in the tar pits where his Occlumency confined them.

"My childhood is none of the public's business, nor is it pertinent to Wizarding concerns or the war we are fighting. If there are any other questions, I will answer them. If not, then I believe I'm finished here."

An old, withered man dared to speak up. "Mr. Potter, please, I have a question."

Potter gave a sharp nod of his head.

"Reginald Burkview, European Quarterly. As a large portion of my readers are not British, I was wondering if you would clarify this prophecy you spoke of for them."

Potter took another deep breath and the hum silenced, though Severus was close enough to still feel the magic vibrate around his slender form. "Shortly before my birth, a prophecy was recorded. It indicated a child would be born at the end of July who would be able to defeat the Dark Lord. Me and one other were the only possible candidates so my parents went into hiding. Unfortunately, Peter Pettigrew, their true Secret Keeper, betrayed my parent's location and the Dark Lord came to remove the possible threat. However, as the prophecy stated, I 'vanquished' him. The last line of the prophecy states, 'neither can live while the other survives'. I think it refers to this war, and we cannot survive without working together. It will take all wizards working in concert to defeat our attackers. Alone we will fall."

"Can you repeat the prophecy for us?" Burkview asked diffidently, eyes wide in wonder.

Potter did so, and Severus listened intently. Like the reporters, it was his first time hearing it.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power that the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches."

Severus frowned, mind turning the puzzle over, teasing at each meaning and double meaning. There was a lot of room for various interpretations. It would bear closer examination later when he had time to devote his full attention to it.

"Dale Laverty, Avalon Chronicle. You've been rumored to have fought the Dark Lord three times since joining Hogwarts. He killed your parents and countless others. He leads a group of wizards who are responsible for more death and destruction. How can you support the Treaty that exonerates those crimes?"

"Because I want a future," Potter answered grimly. "I will never be able to forget what was done. Believe me. But if I stand by and not do everything I possibly can to save the Wizarding world from extinction, then all those deaths, all that suffering, would be for nothing. My parents fought to better the Wizarding world. To protect it. I am doing the same. The Dark Lord has sworn a vow to cease all attacks on the magical community. The future is safe from him and those who follow the Dark. We are not safe from these invaders. If there comes a time this is no longer true, then I will act accordingly. I will fight whomever I must to protect this community, my home, and my loved ones."

Quills were flying across parchment, cameras were going off like miniature fireworks, and even Severus was moved by the speech.

"Philippe Dawson, Savoir Faire. My sources tell me you spoke strongly against Muggle aid against our Muggle attackers. Is this because of your own experiences with your Muggle relatives? Are you adopting the Dark Lord's anti-Muggle stance?"

"I am not against Muggles, and I will never condone attacks on innocents of any kind, including Muggles. One of my best friends is Muggleborn!" The teen was almost hissing he was so furious.

Severus extended his magic in the hopes it would calm him. The effort made sweat trickle down his face and his breath come in short pants, but it was worth it when he saw Potter's shoulders relax.

"However, I do believe in the old ways and traditions passed on to us by Merlin. I believe these rituals are important culturally but that they are also integral to our connection with magic. I believe it is vital to not let time make us forget our heritage. In fact, toward this end, next year Hogwarts will be teaching a class on Wizarding customs for all first year students."

Severus shot a curious look over at the Headmistress and almost smiled at the perfectly blank expression he found. McGonagall only ever made that face when she felt it necessary to hide her true feelings. Obviously, this was the first she'd heard of Harry's proposed class.

"Is this true, Headmistress?" Dawson asked of her.

"I see the benefits of such a class," was her non-answer.

"Mr. Potter, Evangeline Rene, Veritas Variety. Is it true that the Hogwarts students are being trained by Aurors in preparation to fight the invaders?"

"Those who are of age have volunteered their free time to receive training from Aurors, Order members, and Death Eaters in an effort to prepare themselves for the war. The students here wish to be able to defend their homes and families from attack when they leave the school. Hogwarts is providing for that need."

"You mentioned your Muggleborn best friend, one Hermione Granger. According to my sources, she is no longer at school, instead a resident of the Long-term Care ward at St. Mungo's. Do you have any comment on her condition?" the blond devil again spoke up.

"I'm sorry, I cannot speak for Hermione," Potter answered easily, but Severus knew him well enough by now to see the tension around his eyes and mouth.

"Clearly she was attacked. Has the culprit been accounted for?"

"Ms. Skeeter, you've been warned." McGonagall stared down at her coldly. "Speak out of turn again and you will be evicted. As for Ms. Granger, she suffered a spell accident. We hope she will soon recover. That is all we can say on the subject."

"Ms. Luna Lovegood was also attacked and spent some weeks in St. Mungo's. Was that an accident as well?"

The woman screeched as she was literally bounced out of the castle's wards. Severus smirked, thoroughly enjoying the show as the witch bounced and skid all the way down the road to the castle gates, which clanged shut quite satisfyingly in her face.

"I apologize for the interruption," McGonagall said with a smile. The expression as very much one of a cat who ate the canary. "Where were we?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood, the Quibbler. I wanted to say my daughter was attacked by wrackspurts. Luna has assured me that the infestation has been cleansed." The man's pale eyes fastened on Severus, and Severus' smirk fell away to be replaced by a wary expression. "My question is actually for Mr. Snape. Your returned youth is quite the magical phenomena. Do you recall how it came about? Did you step into a faerie circle?"

Severus quirked an eyebrow at the rolling of eyes around the man. Interesting. "I remember taking the Hogwarts Express to London at the conclusion of my seventh and last year at Hogwarts in 1979. Then I woke up in an abandoned shack. When I felt strong enough, I flooed to Hogsmeade and was informed that it was 1996. Not knowing where else to go, I returned to Hogwarts where the Headmistress kindly made me an Apprentice."

"It was no hardship on my part," McGonagall cut in. She gave him a genuine smile, eyes warm with affection. "Severus is an excellent student. I am proud to have him continue his studies here."

Severus ducked his head to hide his blush. Barmy old harridan. Was it truly necessary to put him on the spot like that?

"Will you try for your Potions mastery as your other self did?" Lovegood continued to question.

"I have many interests of study, of which Potions is one," he answered as briefly as possible. He was quite done with this whole experience, and he was certain Potter agreed with him.

"Will you go to St. Mungo's for testing? Is the Ministry looking into this?" Laverty from the Avalon Chronicle demanded with a suspicious scowl.

Severus glared back. He wasn't about to become anyone's experiment or lab rat.

"Severus has a clean bill of health, and we are monitoring his magic for any abnormalities. The Ministry has made its official statement on Severus' legal standing clear. Now, please excuse us, we have much to do today." McGonagall turned and gestured them into the castle before her.

The reporters instantly began shouting, remembering a hundred other questions they wanted to ask. Severus wisely hurried into the safety of the castle, right on Potter's heels. More flashbulbs went off at his back, creating an angry crackling noise. He felt wrung out and exhausted. He would never sneer at celebrities and politicians again. Clearly they were made of sterner stuff than Severus had given them credit for.

"Well that was splendid," Potter spat. His calm fell away to reveal a high case of anxiety.

"Mr. Potter, join me in my office."

"No thanks."

Severus and McGonagall stopped to gape at him.

"I need to get back to training," he said firmly, green eyes glinting. "And I don't want to talk about Skeeter or the Dursleys."

"You will have to," the Headmistress said with surprising gentleness. "Her accusations will be splashed all over the Daily Prophecy tomorrow and likely in the other papers and magazines as well. We will have to make a statement at some point."

"I can't. Not right now." Potter ran a shaking hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Just… I need some time."

McGonagall nodded and Potter instantly turned and fled down the corridor.

Severus watched him go, feeling rather at a loss. It was the worst nightmare of any abused kid. Their personal information splashed for the world to see, for every gossip and ignoramus to titter over. To have the world judge you at your weakest and to label you a victim and see everything you do and say through that prism.

Hate, fierce and black, flooded his system. Skeeter; he knew her face now, and he was well acquainted with her vicious articles from his studies on recent history. He would get revenge. Severus would ensure her reputation suffered the way Harry was about to. She would be held up for judgment the way Harry would now be judged. And she would be made the victim the way she'd victimized others. Severus would see to it.

Robes flaring around him, he stalked down the hall, not even realizing he'd finally made the mental transition from Potter to Harry.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N:** Feedback is always welcome. Do you like the alternating perspectives? Should Harry take the high road when the inflammatory newspaper articles are published and ignore it? Or should Harry fight back? Do you think Voldemort will be humored by the articles or furious?


	21. Monday

**Monday**

Monday morning, Harry pulled himself vertical with a loud groan, his whole body protesting the decision to abandon the bed. Hell, his better sense protested, too. He was not looking forward to the onslaught that he expected with this morning's mail delivery, which was why he needed to make his exit now.

"Where you goin', mate?" Ron asked groggily, still burrowed in his covers.

"To talk to Severus." It was the only place he could think of where no one would find him. He just hoped Severus was awake or he'd have to find a different hiding place.

It was early yet so there was no one about. He had the corridors to himself. As he walked, the aches and pains from the last two days of hell slowly dulled. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of his mood. He grew increasingly frustrated and was well on his way to a spectacular headache by the time he reached his destination.

Severus opened the door, already dressed in his school uniform sans the black robe. His hair and clothes were perfectly arranged, not in the least ruffled due to the early hour. "Harry?"

"Can I eat breakfast with you? It'll be crazy in the Hall," he asked, head ducked and eyes averted. The door opened wider, so he moved inside. "Thanks, Severus. I appreciate it." With an audible hiss, he sat slowly on the couch, his muscles pulling painfully.

Severus lifted an eyebrow as he sat on the opposite end and lifted a cup from the coffee table. "Tea?" he offered mildly.

Harry glowered at the graceful movements. "It's like the weekend never existed for you!"

Severus smirked and sipped at his drink. "You either have self-control or you don't."

Harry grumbled irritably as he helped himself to the teapot. He added several cubes of sugar, ignoring the amused snort from next to him.

"I woke up early and did an hour of stretches after a hot shower."

Harry's eyes shot over to Severus in surprise. Was he really giving away trade secrets?

"The key to control," Severus continued, smug, "is preparation and foreknowledge."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He had definitely not been prepared yesterday. And he should have been. He should have had some plan just in case the Dursley crap was ever made public. He should have known it was a possibility as soon as Fenrir had brought him that damn article. The frustration that had built on the trip to the dungeons returned full force. His hands began to shake, and he quickly set his tea down before he spilled it all over his lap.

"Talk to me," Severus invited softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

Harry looked up to find solemn dark eyes watching him. "About what?" he asked, trying to bluff his way out of the confrontation.

Severus said nothing. He just gave him the same look Harry had grown familiar with over a chess set or during lessons on how to control his new Dark powers. And Harry _missed_ that man. Missed being able to share his deepest confidences and knowing whatever he said would never be used against him, and Severus was sitting there promising to be that person again. Before he realized what he was doing, angry words spilled free.

"I'm not that child anymore! Not since I was eleven and came to Hogwarts. I'm not even the same person who grew up here fighting basilisks and dragons." All that had burned away during detox. The fuzzy memories of his time as a Dark Lord only made the distance greater.

"No. You're not that child," Severus said softly, catching Harry's eyes. "But you were once."

Stupidly, the first thing that came to mind was a vehement denial. Harry scowled and crossed his arms. "The Dursleys are a thing from two lifetimes ago, and I'm sick of people trying to shove me into some image they've decided I must be. I'm not public property! But I know damn well what sensational crap's going to be in those papers, and I'll have to give an interview because god forbid the public doesn't approve of me or thinks I'm damaged!"

He stood abruptly, flushed and furious, and paced in the small space in front of the fireplace. It was just like his eternally bad luck that now when he didn't need intervention, _now_ the Wizarding world was poking into the Dursley situation. He wanted to scream. Wanted to hit someone or break everything around him like he'd done in Dumbledore's office last year.

"Did they hate you?"

Harry's head snapped around. Severus' tone wasn't curious or accusatory. His voice was hushed in the way of shared truths. Quiet with acceptance, not loud with demands. And just as Harry feared would happen when the Dursleys had come up, the small quiet place where the neglected child still lurked came roaring to the front, desperate for acknowledgement.

"Hate me?" Harry strode forward and stood within arm's reach of the other teen. Old shame nearly seared the inside of his lungs as he answered, "My aunt hated magic with a passion and passed on that sentiment to my uncle and cousin. They made it clear in every way that I was an unwelcome burden. Despite the fact that I did all the cooking and cleaning, and I cost them nothing in the way of clothing or food. I was only allowed their _scraps_ of both. My room was the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven! Shut away in the dark, with the spiders and cleaning supplies."

Severus stared up at him, relaxed, a tea cup still held in his hand on his lap. "Did they beat you, Harry?"

"No," he spat. "They both loathed touching such a disgusting freak." Harry caught Severus' relieved sigh from the corner of his eyes and voiced an ugly laugh. Suddenly exhausted, he staggered to the other end of the couch and sat. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, and pushed his fingers into his hair. "That doesn't mean I didn't go a week without bruises. My cousin happily chased me down with his gang of friends, calling it Harry Hunting. By the age of six, I knew what it was like to be terrified and hunted, prey run down by a pack. Any sign of magic and I'd be locked in the cupboard for days with no light, or food, or a toilet. My injuries and sicknesses were never treated."

He had to stop, suddenly drowning in memories of degradation and despair. Memories of frantically digging through the trash, inhaling the spoiled food like a feral animal. Of the stifling heat inside the dark cupboard, the sounds of his family laughing and talking in front of the telly not fifteen feet away. Remembered the birthdays and Christmases of empty boxes or dirty socks while his cousin struggled to count his many gifts that he didn't even want and would never use. And he remembered the painful confusion of not being able to understand why they hated him so. He felt again the conviction that there must be a _reason_, and if he could only figure it out and fix it, they would love him.

Harry was panting, like he was running a race, and his hands clenched into fists, his nails cutting his scalp. Suddenly Severus was there, crouched before him and pulling his hands away. Harry noticed blood under his nails and looked up into Severus' dark empathetic eyes. They grounded him and kept him from shaking apart.

"What else, Harry? Finish it," Severus ordered, expression fierce.

"They were _liars_," Harry rasped helplessly. "They told me my parents were unemployed drunks who caused a car accident and killed an innocent family. That's how I received my scar. That's why I would always deserve punishment. When I was little, I'd have dreams of a flash of green light and a woman screaming. I'd tell myself that the green light meant they were supposed to go and it was the person who hit them who was at fault. I tried to make myself believe my parents weren't murderers. Drunks maybe, but not that."

Severus' hands tightened painfully around Harry's wrists.

"They lied to the neighbors, too," Harry continued. He couldn't stop now to save his life. "Telling them I was criminally insane and a compulsive liar desperate for attention. So I knew no one would believe me if I ever told them about being so hungry it was a constant agony, or that I was hurt, or sick, or afraid. I was all those! All the time! And it _hurts_ so damn much to remember. To be _forced_ to remember!"

Finally he came to a stop, his face damp from angry, childish tears. Magic snapped and crackled around him on waves of rage and anguish, but Severus never looked away. He never flinched.

"Now you're free." He let go of Harry's wrists, but he didn't stand. "You've told the secret. They no longer have power over you."

Harry gasped and collapsed against the back of the couch, trying to put space between them. A childhood of being conditioned to keep the shameful secret safe had finally been broken. He'd finally let light into one of the dark corners in his soul. It felt like a purging, one every bit as painful as detoxing from Dark addiction had been. He turned his whole body away and pressed his face hard into the couch back.

He had no idea how long he sat like that. When an elf popped into the room, Harry finally straightened and scrubbed at his face with his robe sleeve, tiredly pulling himself back together.

"Head Missy wants Tammi to give Mr. Harry Potter Sir these. She wants him to come to Missy's office."

"You may leave them on the table, Tammi," Severus' cool voice answered as he stood and backed away.

Harry lifted his head just as a small pile of magazines and papers appeared on the coffee table. He felt the raw skin around his eyes tighten in horror. He didn't even notice the crack as the elf left, but when he looked he saw they were alone again.

"It is customary to send a complimentary copy of the publishing to those who give interviews," Severus explained calmly.

Numb, Harry turned back to the damning pile and looked at the headlines and covers. He knew with that short glance exactly what the articles would say. **Sixteen Year Old Light Lord – Potter Sides With Dark Lord – Our Children In War Training – Eternal Youth, Fact or Fiction**. It couldn't be avoided. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away, and McGonagall wouldn't wait forever. Gathering his courage, he snatched the most damning from the table. Unsurprisingly it was the _Daily Prophet_.** Leader of the Light Abused by Muggle Family** was blazoned across the top. He stood and paced slowly as he read.

The article was surprisingly short, but Skeeter made up for it by including the juiciest Muggle articles that were printed about the case in Surrey. The last one had him freezing in his tracks. It was dated just before the attacks in England had stopped. He stared blankly at the wall, mind racing, hardly feeling it as the paper was tugged gently from his hand.

"I'm surprised how quickly they picked up the anti-Muggle stance," Severus said, getting his attention.

Harry turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "I noticed that, too. The meeting with the ambassadors was Friday evening, but the reporters knew to ask about my motives for disdaining Muggle assistance yesterday." His eyes flicked again to the headline of the _Savoir Faire_ that read: **Potter Refuses Assistance Against Invaders**. "Someone is deliberately attacking me."

"That's my interpretation. It is possible this person or persons leaked the information about the abuse charges, as well."

Harry nodded once in agreement. The Surrey situation was used too conveniently to support the accusations that he was anti-Muggle, which in turn cast doubts on his motives, which then lent credence to the absurd theory that he had teamed up with Voldemort to take over the Wizarding world. He was used to the papers slandering and generally abusing him, but this felt too coordinated, everything falling into place too smoothly. His first thought was that Voldemort was behind it, but the bastard wouldn't weaken him so publically. He wanted Harry strong. After all, what was the point of controlling a weak pawn? Where would the challenge be in that? No, Voldemort wasn't behind this.

The fire flared, burning green as a floo call connected. "Severus, is Mr. Potter with you perchance?"

Severus scowled at the hearth. "He is."

Her voice softened. "Come through, Harry. We need to talk."

"I'll be there shortly," Harry answered, resigned.

The fire returned to a natural orange, and Harry ran his hands through his hair, growling at himself and the situation in general. He had enough to deal with. He didn't need this on top of everything else. He caught Severus' lowered eyebrows and soft frown. He perked up hopefully, knowing that look. Severus was crafting a plan.

"I was never convinced detailing the situation with the Muggles was the best move. The public is fickle in the extreme. They don't actually expect answers, and in fact prefer the freedom to make up a story that entertains them best. The smarter move would be to shift attention from your Muggle childhood to your Wizarding one. From what I've read, it hasn't been easy and yet you are fighting tooth and nail to protect it. That leads to the assumption that regardless of your treatment in Surrey you wouldn't turn against all Muggles."

A bright smile lightened Harry's face. "Thank you, Severus. That's brilliant!" He had the strongest urge to hug the teen, but he knew better than to try. He'd just have to hope his eyes conveyed his gratitude enough. They must have, though, because Severus suddenly looked away and lowered his head so his bangs hid his expression.

"Good luck," Severus said shortly, offering the floo powder.

Still smiling, Harry moved to the hearth. "Headmistress' office!" he called and was swept away from Severus.

McGonagall was waiting in front of her desk, a scroll in her hand. She set it aside immediately as he stepped clear of the hearth and gestured him to one of the winged back chairs placed to the side by a tall window. A table sat between the two, offering just enough space to hold the tea tray and a plate of biscuits that were placed on it. Harry suppressed a shudder of revulsion. The Headmistress was trying to butter him up, but nothing would change the fact that this would be an interrogation, no matter how gentle her methods. He squared his shoulders and accepted the seat. Let her do her best. He wasn't going to just let people walk all over his private life anymore. He had rights as well as anybody.

She sat across from him without a word and began to pour the tea. Harry's defiant stance melted, his shoulders tightening again as the minutes stretched in silence. He didn't accept the cup. Memory flashed before his eyes. Dumbledore twinkling. Always offering tea and sweets before their talks. Harry looked away, biting his lip hard. He missed Dumbledore badly. He looked out at the edge of the Forbidden forest and the grassy lawns. He could just see the back end of one of the greenhouses. The glass reflected the dull grey clouds from above. It was a cold and dreary January day. Likely there would be some snow.

"Did you read the article, Harry?"

He nodded, still looking out at the sky.

"Good." She gave a little sigh. "We have many things to discuss. Fortunately you have the morning free."

Harry looked at her. "I thought I had Transfiguration this morning."

McGonagall calmly lifted her tea cup and leaned back in her burgundy armchair. She looked exhausted, and he wondered if it was his fault. "Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration are cancelled pending the acquirement of a new teacher. I must also locate someone to hold the position of Gryffindor Housemaster, since the Headmaster cannot technically be Head of any of the Houses. Fortunately, Horace has agreed to be Slytherin Head temporarily in addition to teaching Potions."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry offered.

She flashed him a devious, closed-lip smile. "I considered requesting Molly to attend House Gryffindor, but I figured her children would rebel, and frankly I don't need the bother."

Harry actually laughed.

"And then you had to create more work for me by inventing a whole new class that I'll have to staff for next year."

"Wizarding traditions are important," Harry immediately defended.

"I'm sure I agree, Mr. Potter, but now is not the time," McGonagall answered firmly, setting her tea down with a snap. "It is frankly not even possible right now."

"Now is the perfect time," Harry countered. "Have you considered using our Allies to help you fill out the positions at the school? The Ministry and the Dark Lord have access to very qualified people."

"You can't be serious." She stared at him, expression hard.

"I am perfectly serious." Harry felt the idea bloom and take hold. It was actually a good idea. "Not every member of the old families is a Death Eater. I know for a fact that the Notts and Selwyns are a fairly large bunch and well known for their skills with magic. The Zabini's as well, and they are traditionally neutral, are they not? And they have family at the school, so it would be in their best interest to make Hogwarts as strong as possible."

McGonagall picked up her tea again, her lips a thin line as she sipped. "I see your point. And they are Allies now. I should work harder to set aside the too long held animosity." She sighed and resumed sipping her tea. "Regardless, you must have been a member of a House during your school days to become its Head. None of these families produced Gryffindors, and I was hoping to hire a single person to perform both duties."

"What about Remus? I know he was outted and dismissed because of his condition, but that shouldn't matter anymore." Hope blazed in his chest to see his pseudo-uncle. He hadn't realized until that very moment how much he missed the soft-spoken, clever man.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said softly, obviously reading the hope in his face. "We haven't been able to contact Remus since this summer. He was the very first to come to mind."

Harry went still. "What do you mean?" he asked through numb lips.

This time it was her turn to look out the window. "He… struggled after Sirius' death. We hoped in time we could help him pull through, but we haven't seen him since he came to the Burrow to see you last summer."

Harry felt ice slice through him and settled heavily in his stomach.

McGonagall pinned him with a frown. "We all assumed he said goodbye when he talked to you."

Harry shook his head slowly. Remus had talked to him while it hadn't been _him_, and then he disappeared. Had Voldemort done something? "Is there any way to get a hold of him? I really need to talk to him."

"No. He did this before, after the first war. We couldn't reach him then, either. We will just have to wait for him to contact us." She reached out and patted his hand. He could see it, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except dread. "Don't worry, Harry. He can take care of himself. I will take your advice and go through the records again, this time sending job offers to those outside Gryffindor House." She pulled her hand back and folded it in her lap. "For now, I'd like to discuss the papers. I need to know how much veracity there is to the article in the Daily Prophet."

Harry dropped his gaze, trying to pull himself back on track. He could think of Remus later. He found himself staring at the white teapot. It had blue patters around the bottom. Very delicate and beautiful. The small tea cup in his hands matched it perfectly. Likely they were formed of priceless china. Deliberately, he lifted that little cup to his mouth and took a sip of the now cold, bitter liquid.

"It is true. My uncle was arrested for child abuse."

She didn't care for the vague reply. "Were you abused, Harry?" she asked boldly.

"Yes, but I will not go into detail about it with anyone. Not even you," he said it firmly, holding her gaze. "It's in the past, and I have the right to some level of privacy."

"Were you anyone else, I'd agree," McGonagall countered. "Unfortunately, you are in a position of power over many people. They have the right to understand what may affect your ability to wield that power. Further, as your Second, it is my job to support you, and I cannot do that accurately without understanding all the stressors and dangers in your life."

Harry thought about her point but still felt forcing himself to reveal his past was more detrimental than supportive. "You read the article. You know the basics. That will have to be enough. As for responding to the public, I think emphasizing I suffered more trauma at the hands of the Wizarding world than the Muggle will weaken their fears about my motives."

"Sophistry." McGonagall snorted, and he was surprised to see her smile. "You've been plotting with Severus."

He shrugged.

She studied him a moment longer. Eventually she gave an accepting nod. "I am glad you are talking of your experiences to someone. That reassures me. However, if it becomes pertinent, we will revisit this topic."

Harry nodded, but he had no intentions of ever talking about the Dursleys with her or anyone else.

McGonagall busied herself pouring them new cups of tea. Harry couldn't help but notice as she bent forward that her hair, tied back in a severe bun as it always was, held more silver and grey than he last remembered. There were more lines around her eyes and mouth, as well. But her hands were steady and she was not bowed down by time or the situation. He smiled a bit, feeling proud that the stern witch was his Second and supported him.

"I have already contacted Emmeline. She'll arrive for lunch and will help you craft your specious response to the article."

Emmeline Vance. The memories of the Order unwound once more through his mind's eye. An elderly witch. Stately, Pureblood, long family history of being aligned to the Light. She was a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ like Skeeter, but instead of a jumped-up gossip columnist, she was a political journalist. She had a pretty solid following and had a reputation for writing only verified facts. She was the Order's expert on the media and public relations. Certainly, she would have gone much further at the newspaper had she not been asked to keep a relatively low profile so she could move more freely among the starlets and journalists.

"I'd feel much more comfortable with her than anyone else," Harry admitted. "But is it smart to use someone from the Order to conduct the interview? People will think we've staged it."

"The general populace is unaware she is part of the Order," McGonagall pointed out. "The Minister has a list of every Order member and Death Eater as demanded by one of their terms of the treaty, but he is unlikely to reveal her. In any case, this should be her story. It is under her jurisdiction, so to speak, especially if you plan to spin this with a political edge the way Severus advised."

Harry nodded and now that he wasn't focused on having to recount his experiences in detail, he remembered what had bothered him about the article. "Did you read the last excerpt from the Muggle paper?"

McGonagall went rigid, her eyes darkening. "They will not escape justice, I assure you."

Harry hesitated, surprised by her vehement reaction. "I don't care about that."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Potter, you verified the articles Skeeter purloined from the Muggles were accurate. Their actions warrant retribution."

"They don't matter to me." Harry slashed his hand through the air as if clearing a cluttered surface. "The only time I even remember they exist is when other people bring them up. They are so far removed from my life and my concerns that they are quite dead to me. That's part of the reason I resent the subject being brought up. It is too late. It happened, and I've already dealt with the consequences. It's the past and revisiting it will just redirect thoughts and efforts that would be better spent on the future. Really," he insisted when she continued to stare at him doubtfully. "This is all new to you and the public, but I've had years to come to terms with the situation."

"Then what is your concern?"

"The article said my uncle escaped during a prison transfer. That my aunt and Dudley had moved to America to flee the bad press. It just rings false to me. My uncle's not smart enough or physically healthy enough to plan and execute a successful escape. And how would Petunia get the money to move to America, let alone the correct visas so fast? Someone else is behind these events. And they happened right before the last attack on Britain."

McGonagall frowned and tapped her fingers on her thigh. "You think it was the Muggle invaders?"

"I know it." He shrugged. "I'm not sure how I know, and I can't figure out _why_ they would, but it was them. And I think the Dursleys are involved somehow in why the attacks moved to the continent instead of continuing here."

"Surely that's a bit paranoid…" she began.

"No. They are the only ones who are capable of staging my uncles' escape and having the connections to get my aunt and Dudley out of the country that fast. Though I don't see why they would." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was like having the right number of pieces to a puzzle, and yet the final shape remained just out of reach.

"What could they learn from your relatives?"

"Not much," Harry admitted, still tugging at his hair. "It's not like I talked to them."

"There's nothing we can do about it now. We'll keep an eyes out for more information." McGonagall shook her head and turned her attention to her desk. She summoned four files from the top. "For now, we need to discuss the ambassadors. The next meeting will be called soon, and I want you to be better prepared."

Harry groaned to himself as the tea and biscuits disappeared and the files took their place. He was in for a long morning.

McGonagall lectured him about each ambassador. Their school grades were even included, as well as their sexual exploits. Harry lifted his eyebrows at that, but McGonagall insisted that the only way to correctly deal with politicians is to know the man not the image. He was surprised to learn that each ambassador was qualified and skilled. None were of the Fudge brand of politicians - that's to say, useless. Their titles were earned, and they had dealt with pretty tricky problems – civil unrest, rebellions, even megalomaniac Dread Lord wanna-be's – and come out on top.

Harry had to admit that he respected them more now that he knew their stories. Two of the men had served time in the equivalent of their countries' Auror corps before moving up the political ladder, and the third was some type of genius, his scores in almost every subject phenomenal. But that begged the question; why had these smart experienced men even thought to make such a stupid tactical move as to involve the Muggle governments in their problem? It just didn't make sense to Harry.

"It's not that clear to everyone else," McGonagall reminded.

"It should be," he insisted, not willing to back down.

The fire flared green before they could argue in earnest. Emmeline Vance stepped into the office wearing black robes and a vibrant green shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was black, falling free to her shoulders, and streaked exotically with silver. Her figure was petite. She was shorter than Harry, and not many were, but there was a sharpness in her bearing and her hazel green eyes that made many walk carefully around her.

"Ms. Vance, thank you for coming," Harry said politely, standing and bowing to her.

"Em, have a seat. I've just finished with him." McGonagall stood and offered her the chair. "I'll have an elf deliver lunch while you talk."

"Thank you, Minerva." She sat stately in the chair and gave McGonagall a small smile.

Harry sat across from the journalist as the Headmistress left them. He immediately explained about not wanting to go into details about the Dursleys. "I want to direct attention to my Wizarding childhood instead."

"That is exactly what I was going to suggest," Vance approved. "Now, I think we'll do this in a classical interview style with running dialogue instead of narrative. I'll set up a camera so anyone who can read lips will verify the transcription matches, but that means you have to answer every question perfectly since I can't soften it or edit it later."

"Whatever you think is best," Harry answered easily. He was just glad he wouldn't be grilled.

She gave Harry a smile as sandwiches and chips appeared before them. "Then here is what you should say…"

Vance coached him for two hours and they practiced a few times before they actually got down to doing the interview. They did it twice, so she could choose the best take for publication. By the time they finished, lunch was long over and Harry felt like he'd been through a particularly grueling training session. He watched, bemused, as she packed away her gear with an extra bounce in her step.

"I need to develop this if I'm going to have it done by this evening's deadline," she explained.

Harry nodded and politely walked her to the floo. "I understand. Thank you for your help. You're not so bad for a reporter."

"It's my job," she answered with a laugh. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter. It was my pleasure to work with you."

He smiled at her as she disappeared in a flash of green. For a minute, he just stood there and breathed before he left the office. He was exhausted and didn't want to deal with anything else. The morning had been long on top of an excruciating weekend of training. A nap sounded perfect right about now, but of course, he was only halfway down the corridor when an elf popped into existence before him. He jerked to a stop, almost tripping over the thing.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir, Ruppie has been waiting for you!"

"What is it, Ruppie?" he asked on a sigh. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. There would be no nap for him.

"Suzy Bones asked me to give sir this as soon as he was available. Are you available Mr. Harry Potter sir?"

Harry slipped his glasses back on and peered down at the anxious elf. "Yes. I am." _Unfortunately_, he finished silently.

The elf beamed at him and handed over an envelope. Ruppie disappeared with a pop as Harry opened the damn thing. A gentle waft of perfume hit his senses as he unfolded the letter. He was growing more tired by the minute.

_Meet me at our changeable place. I'll wait all day. Yours, Susan._

He was not anxious to have another encounter with Susan Bones. He felt guilty as hell. He knew he was the cause of her aunt's death and Voldemort had manipulated her feelings, taking advantage of her body. He owed this girl, but he had no idea how to make things right. He had no idea how to handle her. His one experience was with Cho, and she'd been weepy more than enraged due to the recent passing of her previous boyfriend. A boyfriend Harry had witnessed murdered. It definitely wasn't a helpful, or even pleasant, experience. Susan was a lot more forward, too, since she thought they'd been in a relationship for months now.

Gathering his courage, he turned toward the Room of Requirement. He couldn't blow her off, no matter how tempting. She deserved better than that from him. Although, he wasn't thrilled she'd chosen the Room as their meeting spot. She could set it up anyway she wanted, and he had no idea what he was walking into. The note didn't sound angry, but that could just be a trick to get him to lower his guard. It was times like this he wished he leaned more toward Occlumency instead of Legilimency. The ability to clear his mind sounded great right about now. Squaring his shoulders, he put his hand on the door handle and pushed.

The door swung open to reveal a tent like room, the walls draped in yellow, red, and blue silk curtains, all angled to the center of the ceiling. On the floor sat a pile of large white pillows. Susan was there, reclining in Muggle jeans and a blouse, barefoot. Her school robe was thrown casually to the side, and she had a book open in her lap. Her golden hair shifted as she looked up, moving across her shoulders. Large blue eyes brightened as she gave him a warm smile.

"Harry. Come in. Shut the door before anyone walks passed." She quickly shoved the book away and stood, hands reaching out for him.

He winced, but he obeyed, pulling the door shut and stepping closer to her. "Susan, I, uh, I thought you were mad."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the pillows. "I'm sorry about that, Harry. I'm your friend, and I care about you a lot. I shouldn't have acted that way. I should have let you explain and tried to understand where you were coming from."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, not that he could speak even if he did have the words. Susan was pressed against his side, almost hugging his arm.

"I've missed you so much, Harry." She threw a leg over his lap and suddenly he felt pinned down.

He freed his arm. "Thanks, I guess. But, um, I… We…" He cleared his desperately dry throat, scrambling for the right words.

She twisted in such a way that they were facing each other, but left her leg lying across his lap. "It's okay, Harry. Relax." Her soft face was filled with a gentleness that made him break out in a sweat. All that attention on him, soft and cloying, inescapable, made it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"I don't want to fight. We love each other too much to fight over stupid stuff anymore."

Harry closed his eyes, childishly hoping everything would disappear if he couldn't see it. It did help to not have to stare into her face. "I care about you a lot," he began carefully, voice low. "That's why I don't think I can be with you right now. I don't want to hurt you more than I already have. I'm really messed up right now, Susan, with everything going on."

His eyes flew open as he found his arms full of girl. Susan had practically jumped into his lap and was hugging him fiercely.

"Oh, Harry, that's why you need me now more than ever. I can help you. Even if it's only to help you relax."

He stared at her, holding his hands out, not sure where to put them. His eyes widened in shock as her face loomed closer, and then they were kissing. It was wet and uncomfortable. She gasped as he pushed her firmly out of his lap and stood. He brought a shaking hand up to his mouth but dropped his hand, making a heavy fist before he made contact with his sizzling lips. Suddenly he was burning with righteous anger. She was a victim. She'd been used and was now confused and lost. It was his job to protect her. This was going to stop.

He knelt and took her hands in his. He stared into her eyes, making sure she understood he was serious. "Susan, this isn't right or fair to either of us. I'm telling you my head's screwed up. I can't think about this, not with the war and everything going on. I just can't. And I'm not going to use you for sex just so I can relax. It hurts me to hear you say stuff like that. You deserve someone devoted to you, who will take care of you. I'm going to be busy every minute of every day. I'm sorry, but I can't have a girlfriend. Not until this is over. Please understand. Please. I don't want you to be upset, but this…" He gestured around at the romantic little getaway she'd created. "This can't happen."

Her gentle smile was back, and she freed her hands to run them through his hair. He held still. If this didn't work, he had no idea what to do.

"I do understand how busy you are. I'm not going to be angry if we can't see each other every day, but I love you, Harry, and I'm not going to give up on us. Even if it's only once a month, I think this is worth it. We can make it work." She captured his face and looked into his eyes. "You could have told me, Harry. About what they did to you. I would have understood. I don't think you're weak or anything like that. I'm sorry for you. I ache with the need to change what happened, to go back in time and kidnap you away from those monsters, but I know that's not possible. You are amazing for surviving what you have and still be the person you are. And I'm not going to let you push me away now that I know."

Harry jerked away from her and ran. He had no other recourse. Her words were like a knife to the gut, eviscerating him. A scream built in his throat. He didn't want to hurt her, but she was tearing him apart without even knowing it. There was a time when her love and support would have meant the world to him. But her feelings were based on a lie. They were born from something dark and selfish, something cruel. He didn't want to continue it. If she knew the truth about him, she wouldn't love him.

Suddenly he was aware he was outside on the Quidditch pitch. With a frustrated yell, he summoned his broom and was soon soaring at reckless speeds and dropping into insane dives, barely pulling up in time before he smashed into the snow-covered ground. The flight sent his adrenaline spiking and burned the restless energy from his body. Sweat drenched his body and the wind felt like it cut straight to the bone, but he couldn't stop smiling. It was glorious. And a few near-death experiences by broom were the perfect thing to put his problem with Susan into perspective. He'd just have to play it by ear. Time would make things clear to her.

With his confidence returned, Harry settled his broom on his shoulder and returned to the castle. It was dinner time, and he merged into the crowd heading inside the Hall, hoping not to draw attention. So far so good. He dropped into his place at the Gryffindor table with a groan. His muscles weren't pleased with the impromptu workout. Feeling a hot gaze on him, he looked up to see Ron glaring. Apparently, his friend wasn't happy, either.

"Where have you been? Why do you have your broom with you?"

"I needed to get away for a bit," Harry answered stiffly.

"Away from what? You missed all your classes today," Ron hissed.

"Let him eat, Ron," Neville's gentle voice intervened. Harry looked over at him and Neville shook his head in a negative. "He's just worried about you, Harry."

Harry cast a side glance at the redhead. Ron scowled, but he relented, turning to his own dinner and dropping the questions. Harry sighed and helped himself to the food on the table, ravenous. He was determined to actually finish a meal without interruptions. Toward this goal, he kept his head down. It didn't work.

"Is it true, Harry?"

He lowered his fork with a pained sigh and looked up at Lavender. She fidgeted under his gaze, flushed. "Is what true, Lav?" It was only then that he noticed there was no conversation happening around him. He had everyone's attention apparently. "Look, guys, I just spent the afternoon giving an interview about all the articles. It should be printed in the Prophet tomorrow. Can you wait that long? I promise if you still have reasonable questions, I'll answer them the best I can."

Lavender nodded. "Sure, Harry." She turned to Parvati and began to whisper to her. The others took the cue and began to talk amongst themselves as well.

Harry relaxed and began to eat again, though he kept a worried eye on Ron who was glaring darkly at his roast beef. Neville's reassuring smile let him know it wasn't anything urgent, but it still didn't make him happy. What was up with the redhead now? Before he could finish dinner or find out what was going on in his friend's head, he heard the tell-tale clomp of Moody's wooden leg approach. Harry turned around fully, ready for an attack. The old man grinned in response, his magical eye rolling slowly.

"Good, Potter. Constant vigilance."

"Thank you," he answered, still wary.

"Come with me. We need to talk."

Harry stood and clasped Ron's shoulder before falling into step with his combat instructor. Moody didn't take them far. They turned into the nearest classroom, and he quickly set up powerful privacy wards that made Harry's skin prickle.

"I talked Minerva into releasing you in the evenings after training. We found an old spell that will allow us to recreate the environment of the Muggle battle and run simulations to better our training, but we need more magical power. As Phoenix Leader, that makes it your responsibility. She's pretty hacked off that you're missing so many classes, though, so I had to promise you'll be back before your first in the morning."

"Of course. The Order comes first before school." Harry nodded firmly. "How are they advancing with the physical regimen?"

"Struggling, but they're getting there." The ex-Auror gave a shrug and began to prowl the room. "Magic helps. The real problem is they're set in old patters of dueling. Intellectually they know it's worse than useless in this situation, but habit's hard to break. That's why we need this construct so bad. They need to experience real battle situations or they won't survive ten minutes."

Harry frowned at the reminder of how vulnerable they were. He didn't want to see any more of his people dying. "I want to add a Healing course to their training. Everyone needs to master the basic spells. The null effect will weaken the spells' effectiveness, but it could still preserve someone's life long enough for them to seek professional help."

"Good thinking. I'll adjust the schedule." Moody turned abruptly toward the door. "Go to Minerva's floo when training's over. I'll see you at the Burrow."

Harry cast Tempus and hissed at the time. He was going to be late if he didn't run. Ron had been right to fear such a fate. A Ravenclaw seventh year had been late Sunday morning and had merited the sole attention of one of the Aurors. The boy had collapsed unconscious several times only to be continually Enervated by the relentless instructor.

Harry pelted into the Room of Requirement, red-faced and panting from his sprint up the stairs.

"Cutting it close, Har," Neville murmured.

"What did he want?" Ron demanded.

Harry opened his mouth to answer but there was no time. Andromeda Tonks, Tonks' mother and now an active Order member, stepped up to him with the suppressor cuff. He slipped it on and lined up with the others to begin drills. As he fell into a rhythm, he was able to observe the new instructors for this week.

The two Ops – as the students had started to call them – were Mrs. Tonks and Charlie Weasley. From the Dark Lord, a subdued Lucius Malfoy and his contemporary, Aiden Avery, were in attendance. He didn't know the two Aurors by name. One was a middle-aged woman lithely muscled with short blonde hair and brown eyes. Her partner was in his twenties and built like a professional rugby player. Surprisingly and worryingly, the six were bunched together, only looking over at the drilling students occasionally. They were hunched and whispering, cooperating. It was what Harry had hoped for, but he now understood Ron's dread of the situation. What were they planning, and would they survive it?

The next four hours passed without change to the routine: offensive drills, calisthenics and weights, and finishing with shield drills. It was hard, certainly. Harry's body throbbed, his magic pulsed under his skin from overexertion combined with suppression, and he had a killer headache from borderline dehydration. Still, it was a walk in the park compared to the weekend. They were only at it for three hours before being released.

"Where are you going now?" Ron snapped as Harry didn't turn with them toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Going to the Burrow. Need to help with the Order training. I'll be back before classes tomorrow," Harry answered tiredly, mopping at his face.

Severus passed him some potions. "Take one now, one at midnight, and one after breakfast."

"Thanks." Harry gave him a heartfelt smile of gratitude before downing one and pocketing the other two.

"Will you be all right, Harry? You're pushing yourself awful hard," Neville spoke up.

"I'll be fine," he promised. He wasn't allowed to be anything else. He noticed Ron had slumped in defeat and tried to cheer him up. "You can grill me over lunch, okay?"

Ron simply nodded and began the climb up to the tower. Neville clasped Harry's shoulder and followed after the redhead. Severus, however, walked with him to the Headmistress's office. They didn't talk. Harry drank in his soothing presence and felt a step above roadkill by the time he reached the gargoyle.

"See you tomorrow," he said with a wave and let the stairs carry him up to the office.

McGonagall was sitting at the desk doing paperwork of some kind or another. Harry waved at her and hurried to the floo. She frowned at him, but he was gone before she could scold or lecture him about anything. Although he did need to have a talk with her about trying to keep him from going to the Burrow. He was a student, yes, but first he was Phoenix Leader. She had to accept that or things were going to get messy between them. He wasn't a minor, and he didn't appreciate her trying to play parent.

He stepped out of the fireplace into the Weasley's living room. The worn furniture and many knickknacks on every available surface gave the room a well lived in look that made Harry smile. This house had been a sanctuary during the summers and would always be a place he felt safe in. Voices drew him to the kitchen were Molly was cooking up a storm and Arthur was keeping her company. Her face broke into a big smile upon seeing him.

"Harry!"

He was engulfed in a hug. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

"You look peaky, dear. Have a snack."

"Thanks." Harry took the sandwich offered to him gratefully.

"They're all outside placing the runes and whatnot," Arthur offered.

"Thanks," he said again. He kissed Molly's cheek and slipped out the backdoor.

"Good luck," Arthur called after him.

'They' turned out to be Moody, Bill Weasley, Tonks, and Dedalus Diggle. Diggle was the one who had unearthed the ancient spell. He was an expert in Runes and many other subjects. He was a bit cantankerous and obstinate, but he was a brilliant wizard. Tall, bald, and stooped with a scholar's hunch, he was surprisingly strong for all that. Harry listened intently as the mechanics of the spell were described to him. Apparently it was sympathy magic. You take a memory and fill it with magic. That magic is now familiar with the 'shape' of the memory. Then you used that magic to recreate that form outside in the physical realm.

"Magic don't know the difference between thought and the corporeal world," Diggle explained. "Magic's a force. Physical matter is an enforced shape. Don't matter where it's forced to take that shape. All the same to the magic, memory or the material plane."

The problem was it took an enormous amount of power to fill out a memory sufficiently that the construct would be as realistic as they needed for effective combat training. It couldn't be group magic, either, because the magic had to be perfectly uniform. That's why the spell originally fell out of use.

"That's what Bill and Tonks are here for. Tonks is Healer qualified. She'll take care of any accidents," Moody informed him. "And Bill's a Curse Breaker. He knows how to insert himself between active magics and deactivate them. He'll intervene if Tonks says you're beginning to strain."

"And you?" Harry teased. "What are you good for?"

"I'm a senior member. Have to have a witness for any big workings." Moody grinned back. "You ready?"

Harry nodded sharply and took a deep breath to center himself. He stood about three hundred meters out from the house. There was plenty of land around the Burrow, and the Order had painstakingly expanded the warding so the construct would fit inside. The night was cold and cloudless. The stars sparkled and glittered brightly with not a cloud in the sky. The moon was full, and Harry felt a pang as he thought of Remus.

Snow lay here and there in patches around him because the wards created a slight greenhouse effect. Outside the ward-range, by the woods, the snow was nearly knee high. Harry lowered his gaze to the intricate rune work etched in a space completely cleared of snow. It was beautiful. He felt his love of magic slowly enfold him. This would be his first big use of magic since cleansing Dumbledore that night on the tower, and he was eager to give himself over it again.

Without speaking or even glancing at the others, Harry stepped into the center of the geometric runes and released his barriers. His magic flared up like a torch thrown on a gas-soaked pile of dry wood. It poured out of him and encountered the runes. It bent, recognizing the pattern, and flowed obediently into the spell, empowering it.

Harry let it burn through him, lighting up inside him like glorious threads of fire spider-webbing through his brain. He held the longest battle he'd experienced in his mind. The one on the Okney Islands. He let the texture of the buildings, the road, the taste of the air, consume his focus. He rolled slowly through the memory. Concentrated on the tastes and sounds when he met the enemy. Focused sharply on how the soldiers moved. Etched their deadly force and capabilities in exacting details across his mind. The way they faded away instead of engaging head on. They way he had to chase them through alleys and was lured into traps. Every doorway and window was a threat. And there was blood. Screaming. Fire.

He threw himself into every physical recollection, telling his magic, _make it real._ The runes said the same,_ make it real_. And it was.

"Harry!"

He blinked, reality bleeding into his eyes. He saw stars. He was cold. Tonks was crouched next to him and he smiled at her, a bit confused. "Where am I?"

She frowned at him. "The Burrow. Don't you remember?"

He let her sit him up and saw a dark alley between two damaged, smoking buildings. His heart stuttered and then raced in his chest. He knew this place. Harry jumped to his feet. "Get down!" he yelled weakly, hardly able to keep his feet. Had he been hit?

"Harry! Calm down!" Tonks was pulling at him, but he shoved at her, trying to get her to cover.

"Potter!"

Harry froze and stared at Moody. What was he doing here? That wasn't right… It shouldn't be dark, either… He swayed.

"Potter." Moody's voice gentled and he took the arm opposite Tonks. "It's okay, lad. You did good. Better than good. You can rest now."

Harry wasn't sure about that. He wasn't allowed to rest. Never. Always so much to do. So many people needed him. "Got to get ready," he mumbled. The sun broke over the horizon. He stared. It was beautiful.

"He's near fatally drained," Tonks said, clearly distressed, and Harry wondered who she was talking about. He should probably get up and take care of it.

"I tried interrupting the spell," Bill snapped. "Nothing I did worked."

"Don't matter now. It's done," Diggle cut in. "We got several blocks, more than we reckoned on."

"I'm more interested in his reactions. This isn't no secondhand memory. It's too spot-on perfect. I'm telling you he was there."

"That doesn't make sense," Tonks growled. "He was at school!"

Harry realized he was walking somewhere, but that was okay. They were leaving that town with all the dead and dying. That was more than okay. The Burrow grew larger in the distance. Not so far. "Almost home," he said, trying to encourage himself to keep going. He couldn't stop now. Not when he was so close.

"Give him to me," Bill said lowly.

The supports on either side suddenly disappeared, but before he could fall, he was lifted off his feet. He was in someone's arms. One was hooked under his knees, the other went across his back. He wasn't sure, but it was kinda of nice, kinda terrifying. Which was weird. What was so scary about something nice? His head fell limp, and he was rewarded with a sky slowly turning pink and orange and blue. It was like magic.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Wow, so here's a nice long chapter. Good news: the next chapter is written. I just have to edit it so that it earns Saltwater's approval, so it should be up in five or six days. Happy times, yes? Lol! Again, big thanks to Saltwater! She really knows her stuff!


	22. Confrontations

**A/N: **In this story, about $7 will be equal to 1 Wizarding galleon.

**Confrontations**

The throne room was nearly pitch black. The only light in the room came from the hot embers glowing in the hearth. Sinuous curves shifted before the dying heat as Nagini slept. He watched her, fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest, but his mind was occupied on other matters. The mass of articles his Death Eaters had brought him that afternoon still whispered through his mind. Apparently Potter had been forced to appear at a press conference, and he'd been unable to control the cockroaches.

Two articles in particular gave Voldemort concern, the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Savior Faire_. Clearly the attacks on Potter's character had been designed by an enemy. He would discover who and deliver him to Potter in pieces! Visions of the bloody remains of the impertinent worm who dared challenge what was his flashed through his mind, and Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. Better still, he imagined the beautifully anguished expression Potter would wear, knowing his inability to control the situation had led to the deaths of others. However, he had to find the enemy first if he wanted to make either a reality.

His laughter fell away and he scowled at the fireplace. There were only two possible motives for the bold character assassination. The first was to discredit Voldemort through Potter; the guilty party too afraid to speak openly against the Dark Lord. Or it was a personal vendetta and had been aimed at Potter specifically. In either case, the immediate goal was clear. After a brief reflection, the list of suspects was surprisingly short, and Scrimegeour occupied the number one slot.

Voldemort grinned, his magic flashing metallically in the dark. If he was correct, then the treaty would be dissolved. He would no longer be bound by such ridiculous limitations and the Unbreakable Vow would be negated. He had sworn not to break the treaty first, and so he hadn't.

The hall doors flew open, crashing against the walls with a resonant boom and spilling soft torch light into the room. Two Death Eaters strode forward in full regalia, their faces obscured with the cold white masks and deep black hoods. Between them, a middle-aged woman in a pink nightgown struggled. Her eyes rolled in terror, her breath came in quick shallow pants, and sweat slicked her skin despite the winter cold. His minions dropped her at the foot of the dais, and she let out a helpless cry. The Death Eaters faded into the thick shadows, waiting on his orders.

Without looking from his prey, he addressed his soldiers. "Were you seen?"

"No, my Lord," they answered in unison, their voices seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Voldemort gave a gentle smile, pleased greatly with his servants. "Did you leave evidence behind?"

"No, my Lord."

He peered down at the trembling woman who was whimpering sobs to the floor. "Very good."

"Y-you c-can't do this… The tr-tre-treaty."

He could barely understand her through her chattering teeth. "Rita," he whispered dangerously. She flinched as he slowly stood and moved to her side. She was gasping now, near hysterical. "Sweet Rita, you know better."

She screamed as he lashed out, capturing her face and hauling her to her feet. Her lace and silk nightgown, damp with sweat, clung unpleasantly to her fat body. Voldemort stared into her wide-eyes and lashed his mind into hers.

"Who gave you those Surrey articles?"

The woman flailed weakly at his arm, but he hardly noticed. Images shuffled between them, a rapid fall of memory. An envelope laid on her desk. A filthy gutter snipe holding a hand out for payment. Muggle articles spilling from the unmarked gift. Her demanding question, "Who gave you this?" The boy's uncaring shrug. Greedy anticipation, nearly sexual pleasure at the vision of Potter destroyed by her words. Feelings of being victimized tied to the feeling of hate. An image of Granger and a beetle in a jar; being blackmailed.

"Such a sad creature," Voldemort told her in a mocking croon. "I have a job you, Rita. Aren't you glad?"

The witch could only whine helplessly in answer, her jaw still firmly in his grasp.

"You will go to the Muggles, and you will investigate how Vernon Dursley escaped prison. You will locate Petunia Evans Dursley and her repulsive offspring, Dudley Dursley. You will gather every police report and article regarding this case. You will bring me the results of your investigation. If I am pleased, I will forget you exist. If you disappoint me, Rita, I will be forced to think about you very thoroughly. Do you understand me?"

Sobbing, she nodded minutely.

"Very, very good." Voldemort flicked his free hand and his servant approached. "Take her back. She has work to do. Be sure you aren't seen and make sure Ms. Skeeter understands the consequences of discussing her mission or findings to any save me."

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort released her and strode back to his throne. With a swirl of his robes, he sat and waited for his guest to depart before gesturing the remaining Death Eater closer. The man knelt gracefully at the foot of the dais, head bowed.

"Morgan."

Selwyn looked up. "My Lord?"

He implanted the memory of the dirty delivery boy in the man's head. Selwyn jerked, but he didn't fall or cry out. Voldemort smiled cruelly in approval. "Find him. Soon."

"Yes, my Lord." Selwyn rose immediately and left on his mission.

Voldemort watched him go, fingers once more drumming on the armrest. The task wasn't impossible. There were significantly fewer children living on the streets in the magical community than in the Muggle world. And the child had to be magical if he could see the news building and find Rita Skeeter. He looked English as well, so he wasn't a foreign agent. However, it was possible to change physical appearances and discard the disguise once the task was completed. Selwyn would discover if that was the case by questioning the other street people. It was also possible the boy had been disposed of once he had served his purpose.

Voldemort would know one way or another. It was pertinent because the tools the enemy used and how they disposed of them afterward would tell him much about who the enemy was. And once he knew the face behind the attack, Voldemort would make it clear attacks on him or Potter would invoke severe retaliation.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry woke feeling warm and comfortable. He blinked, confused but relaxed when he saw the orange walls and Quidditch posters. The Burrow. Ron's room. He yawned and stretched. Lingering in bed wasn't an option, but he wasn't eager to leave the comfort of the thick blankets. Wait…

He sat up and snatched his glasses off the nightstand. Why was he at the Burrow? He sat there, heart pounding, as reluctant memories slowly trickled back into his consciousness. Training? No, after training. Flooing from McGonagall's office. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley. Moody. A beautiful array drawn on the snow-cleared ground. Diggle. Others were there, but he couldn't remember who. It was so vague and fuzzy.

Cold sweat beaded on his brow as flashes of guns and screaming drifted through his mind. Had they been attacked? Harry practically flew from the bed, wand in hand. Chattering voices reached him as he hit the stairs and the tension strumming through him calmed a bit. The living room came into sight, and he frowned at the Order members who were sitting casually as if having a friendly tea. Moody was the only one facing him, and the intense expression on the old man's face had Harry straightening his shoulders. Tonks, with cherry red hair today, saw him and jumped to her feet.

"Harry!"

Silence fell over the small group.

Tonks ignored the tension building in the room and ran to his side and began casting diagnostic spells. "How are you feeling? Your magic is still severely fatigued. No spells for at least three days, and be sure to eat bigger meals in the mean time. It'll help you bounce back and you could stand to gain a few stone."

"Thanks." He shot her a wry smile. "Did the construct turn out okay?"

Moody snorted. "A bit more realistic than we expected."

"What's that mean?" Harry kept his expression blank, but he couldn't keep his heart from pounding or his palms from growing damp.

"The Muggle attackers are damn life-like in there," Charlie answered with a rueful smile. He rubbed at his chest. "It's just a construct, but when you're hit, it feels damn real. Thought I was a goner for a moment. Fortunately, the affect fades after a few minutes."

Harry strode forward, eyes narrowed. "Were you injured?"

"It was an illusion," Charlie reassured him. He pulled his shirt up to reveal clear unmarred skin. "I saw a hole in me, and there was pain and blood everywhere, but as I said, it faded after a few minutes."

Harry's brow creased in worry. He could see the strain under Charlie's casual demeanor. The man had honestly thought he was dying. That wasn't something you just bounced back from, illusion or no.

"It's exactly what we needed, Potter." Moody barked. "Don't get soft now. A few days running through the construct will give them the means of surviving a real attack."

Harry wasn't convinced, but he didn't say anything. He looked around at those in the room. Charlie, Bill, Diggle, Tonks, and Moody.

Due to the Light's inclinations toward Healing or politics, creation and the Judge, only about a third of those called to the Light were inclined to fight in combat. They were currently under Moody's direction for training. So far there were only twenty-six in the Lux Lucis, or the combat division. Twenty-six out of seventy-nine Order members. It actually wasn't that bad, especially considering the Light students training at Hogwarts. When they graduated, most would join the Lux. And the rest of the Order who weren't soldiers had agreed to train twice a month just in case.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked curiously.

"Half are in the construct," Tonks answered. "The others are at St. Mungo's undergoing preliminary Healer training."

Harry nodded. "What about you?"

"We were waiting for you," Moody answered with an unfriendly grin. "Care to explain how you were able to create the field of battle so accurately?"

"What's it like? Is it a perfect rendition of the memory?" Harry asked, stalling. Cold dread coiled around his stomach. Had they seen the Dark Lord in there? The Death Eaters?

Moody didn't answer. His eyes narrowed dangerously, but Charlie wasn't as reserved.

"It's not like a Pensieve or we could have used one and not gone to the trouble with the construct. Instead it copies your memories of the enemy and environment and creates a simulation. The invaders move independently of your memory, but within the limits and skill range of what you remember. It's the perfect way to gain combat training, as Moody said."

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Potter," Moody growled.

Harry considered lying or bluffing his way out of the confrontation, but as he met their eyes, he realized these were his people. They were his responsibility to lead and protect. He couldn't lie to them. But he couldn't tell the truth, either. They wouldn't understand his decision to become the Dark Lord, to strengthen the Dark and make it equal to the Light and the Ministry. They wouldn't understand how he was capable of such Dark acts, like torture and assassination. Hell, Harry barely understood it himself. So he compromised with a little truth and a little misdirection.

"I had a vision though the Dark Lord's eyes. Dumbledore worked with me to refine the memory as much as possible so we could develop effective strategies."

Tonks nodded. "Makes sense." She flashed a grin as her hair lightened to pale orange. "Sucks to be you."

"Fascinating," Diggle murmured.

Moody still looked suspicious, but he always looked suspicious.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about the Order's finances," Bill spoke up. "Those in the Lux have quit their jobs or have taken temporary absences so we can train fulltime. Most are single, but a few have families. We need compensation. Not to mention we need funds to keep us fed. My mother has been doing the cooking and shopping, but my parents are broke. They literally can't buy food next week."

Harry flushed, ashamed that he hadn't addressed this issue before. A quick scroll through his gifted memories revealed McGonagall usually acted as Treasurer, but she was nearly overwhelmed between her job as Second and Headmistress. She couldn't be Treasurer, too. It shouldn't be a soldier, either. They had a high chance of dying in battle. The position had to be stable.

"How's your mother with finances and economy?"

Charlie and Bill exchanged a curious look. It was Bill who answered. "Excellent. She managed our family on little to nothing for years, and we never had to do without the necessities."

"She can haggle a goblin out of his gold," Charlie said with a laugh. Color was beginning to return to his cheeks.

"Is she free this morning?" Harry continued.

"What are you thinking?" Tonks asked curiously.

"I'm thinking she's the new Order Treasurer," he answered with a satisfied smile.

The Weasley boys gaped at him, but Moody and Diggle nodded in agreement.

"I need her to come to Gringotts bank with me to establish her as Head of the Order account, and I need to make a deposit. I'm also going to increase the monthly fee for non-combatants to forty galleons a month. One hundred galleons will be deposited monthly in the accounts of the soldiers in training. It's not a lot, but all meals will be covered during training, as well as housing if they wish to move into Grimmauld Place and stop paying rent. Also, I want Vance to write up a small instructional book of advice if your town is attacked by the invaders. Sell them for four galleons each. All profits go to the Order. In addition, the Minister agrees that if it is for the war, everything is tax free, including food, this book, and any magical materials we buy to create armor or medical potions."

They gaped at him some more. "Since when?" Bill demanded.

"Since whenever he receives the owl I'm about to send telling him so," Harry answered with a hard grin.

"Okay," Tonks drawled out. "You should eat while you do that, Harry. It's almost lunch."

He nodded and went to the kitchen without argument. It seemed he was always hungry lately. He wasn't about to pass up a chance to get food. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley. Can I talk to you?"

**xXxXxXx**

Minerva was ensconced behind her paper-strewn desk, glaring out at the subject of her ire. She was not pleased. The boy stood across from her, head up and green eyes unconcerned. She listened as Potter explained the aftereffects of creating the damn construct Alastor had insisted that he needed. Her lips flattened. Their leader now had no access to magic for at least three days, perhaps more. Then he had the gall to inform her he'd ordained Molly Weasley as Treasurer without even consulting her. Not that she disagreed with his choice, but Potter had acknowledged his inexperience and promised to seek advice on all matters. Not to mention he was their _probational_ leader.

"You cannot continue to miss classes, Mr. Potter. Nor should you have participated in that damn construct without having it tested first. You've left yourself incredibly vulnerable and the Order with you! Should there be an attack, you would be unable to defend the people you've chosen as your responsibility."

Potter's face flushed red. "The effect on my magic was unexpected. The construct was needed and researched thoroughly. There was no way to test it beforehand. I judged the risks and deemed the venture worthwhile. Moody assures me it will save lives."

Minerva slammed her hands on the desk as she jumped to her feet, enraged. "That is no excuse for such reckless behavior! Appointing Molly as Treasurer is equally brash! You have clearly reverted back to your adolescent behavior, and it is unacceptable, Mr. Potter!"

"She is the best person for the job!" Potter dared to yell back. "And you are clearly swamped! The others agreed with me!"

"You _consulted_," Minerva spat the word in disgust, "with Alastor and two of Molly's sons. Moody is an excellent military advisor, but he knows not the political field. I told you, Potter, you must see to the forms. You didn't put it up for a vote or ask who else wanted the position. The Viaticus should have been consulted at the least, considering they are the financial and political division of the Order. Best person or not, Molly being chosen without at least holding a meeting looks like blatant nepotism!"

"I'm sorry it appears that way," Potter answered stiffly. Clearly he was aware he was in the wrong, but it wasn't enough. There was still arrogance in his stance, the thrust of his jaw. "I will lay out the reasons for my decision at the next meeting."

"While informing them you are increasing their dues." She gave him a gimlet stare. "It must be prettily worded indeed if you don't want to be booted before your probation is up!"

Potter finally showed signs of weakening. His shoulders rounded slightly, and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I see your point. I'll move more carefully in the future."

Minerva sat stiffly, still glaring at the teen in front of her. He stood in jeans and a maroon sweater. It was one of Molly's handmade and practically overwhelmed the teen's small frame. In memory, Potter always seemed bigger than reality. She wasn't about to fall into that trap. Someone had to hold the boy accountable, and if it fell to her, then so be it.

"Tell me about this owl to the Minister I've heard about. Tell me you didn't write Scrimegeour demands like some petulant little dictator."

"No." Potter met her eyes, clearly exhausted. "I informed him of the construct's success and invited him to convene with Moody to arrange a day when the Aurors can make use of it. Then I mentioned in return a temporary tax break regarding military efforts would be appreciated by his allies."

"Not too bad, but still heavy-handed, Mr. Potter. Any communication with the Minister from you as Phoenix Leader should be vetted by the senior members of the Viaticus, if not the full Order. Especially since you are a probational leader. How can we deem you acceptable if we can't see how you operate and think?"

Potter ducked his head. At least he was properly ashamed of his actions of late. "I'm sorry. I'm accustomed to acting fast due to emergency situations."

"This was not such a time," Minerva told him sharply. "You could have waited a day to hold a meeting before enforcing these changes. You must remember your dealings with the Minister are a critical concern. Don't forget we are used to operating in secrecy. Now that our names are known to the Minister, many are especially anxious over how the Order will be run because it now affects their reputations directly."

"I'll call a meeting for tomorrow evening." Potter sighed. Already she could see his remorse was fading into frustration. "I can't go to training anyway until my magic recovers."

Minerva's lips thinned once more at the reminder of how close to death he'd come. "You are too reckless!"

A spark of defiance returned to his eyes. "Maybe, but this is a war and risks must be taken. Making the construct was not a decision to be made by the Order. It was mine alone, and I made it."

Unfortunately the blasted boy was right, and she couldn't continue to take him to task for that. On the other hand, it wasn't as if she had a dearth of complains. She straightened her shoulders and stared him down over her half-moon glasses. "Be that as it may, you cannot continue to miss classes. You are falling behind, and it is unacceptable. You have responsibilities to this school as a student and to your teachers."

Potter waved his hand as if he could erase her words from the air. "My responsibilities are to the war, the Order, my allies and friends, the Wizarding community, and then this school, in that order. I will act accordingly. I respect you greatly, but I'm sorry, I am not an ordinary student, Minerva."

Furious protestations regarding his age and lack of knowledge were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't voice them. The innocent hand gesture had actually Silenced her. She felt her cheeks heat with rage. Potter's green eyes held her own, and the determination and cold intelligence she saw there cleared her vision of red, allowing her to think rationally.

"My lack of guidance is partially your fault. I would come to you more if I were certain I'd be talking to my Second and not the Headmistress," he continued in a soft voice. "You take me to task like an errant student instead of advising me as your leader. You also make it sound like I should be ruled by the Order. I will not be a figurehead or a puppet. Nor do I need constant supervision from the senior members. I think you are letting yourself be blinded by my age and your responsibilities as my Headmistress, and this cannot go on. I am dropping out of Hogwarts. When the war is over, I will consider continuing my studies, but I need to focus on my other responsibilities right now."

Minerva finally broke free of the spell and audibly cleared her throat. Clashing emotions created chaos of her thoughts, and rather gruffly she ordered the boy to sit. "I need to think," she explained.

Potter sat obediently, but his expression didn't shift an inch. It remained hard and unyielding. With a frustrated sigh, she ordered tea and busied herself preparing the drink to her satisfaction.

Potter had valid points. She was overwhelmed in her position as Headmistress. The school's concerns had come to overshadow all others. Not to mention she still struggled daily with her grief over the loss of her lifelong friend and leader. Perhaps she had been treating Potter more like a student and less like a leader, but that didn't mean her earlier points were incorrect. He was too reckless, and he didn't consult the Order when he should. They weren't obedient followers. He wasn't a Dark Lord.

Minerva sat her cup down with a firm clink and reengaged eye contact. "Your education is important. Your grasp of magic will increase your skill as a leader and aid you in the war," she stated calmly. "But I agree you are not an average student. You have special needs. Therefore I recommend becoming an independent studies student. You will be in charge of your own schedule. Each of your teachers will assign you projects, and you will hand them in whenever you are able to finish them. You will not use this freedom to slack. You will work on them whenever you are able, or you will be forced to drop out as you previously suggested."

Potter thought about it, his lips pursed slightly, before nodding. "That sounds doable."

Steepling her fingers before her lips, she said, "You will consult with me before making changes to the Order or any political moves. For advice and not a lecture." She narrowed her eyes at his wide smile. "And you will be less reckless with your magic and your life."

"I agree," he answered, still smiling.

Minerva sighed. "Go then. Dinner should be starting soon."

Potter stood and gave her a little bow before slipping from the office.

She sat back in her chair, exhausted, and rubbed at her temples. Dealing with Potter always gave her a headache.

**O**

Ron watched the doors like a hawk. Conversation surged and drifted around him unnoticed. Harry had missed nearly all of his classes last week, the first since the funeral. He'd had his emancipation and being sworn in to the Order to deal with, so it was understandable, but Ron had thought Harry would be back in classes this week for sure. However, Harry hadn't gone to classes Monday or today. Without Hermione and Harry, Ron was adrift. No more inside jokes. No more whispered answers or late night help with assignments.

It didn't help to remember the beginning of the school year. He'd been in his own little world with Lav, but as he'd told Hermione, Harry hadn't exactly been begging for his attention. Harry had seemed perfectly happy on his own or cozying up to the rich kids in Slughorn's stupid club. And, yeah, Ron had been jealous, and Lavender was pretty, and it'd felt damn good to do the things he did with her, but he was past that now. He'd thought Harry was also past whatever snit he'd been in last term. Apparently not. Ron was still exiled and on the outside of his own best friend's life.

So when Harry finally hurried into the Hall, Ron gave him a glare, determined to put a stop to this somehow. "Where were you this time?" he hissed as Harry dropped into his place at the table. Green eyes half obscured by dark, messy bangs rested on him briefly before moving on to the platters of food. Ron's temper burned hotter at the casual dismissal.

"Talking with McGonagall."

As coldly as he could, he asked, "Are you ever coming back to classes?"

To his dismay, Harry shook his head. "No. It's just not possible to predict my schedule between the meetings at the Ministry, training, and dealing with the Order. McGonagall decided to put me on an independent studies program."

Ron was exhausted and worried sick. He felt strung tight, and this was the final straw. A tumble of images shuffled through his mind. Months of Harry acting distant and strange, of Hermione growing more distressed. Of coming back from Christmas vacation to find Hermione obsessing about their classes and Harry more foul tempered than ever. The announcement of Dumbledore's death, being told Harry was in the infirmary. And Harry waking up and being the best friend Ron remembered once more. Gaining Harry back only to lose Hermione. Hope and relief, grief and guilt. And anger, too. Anger that blazed to life and blocked everything else out.

Ron leapt to his feet, blind to all else but the howling rage burning him alive. "You're going to study with the greasy git, aren't you? He's your new best friend. Us lowly Gryffindors aren't up to your standards anymore. You've moved on to bigger and better things, is that it, Harry?" Vaguely he was aware of someone telling him to stop, but he couldn't stop. "Have you even thought of Hermione once? Do you even notice one of your best friends is missing?" He was practically screaming now. "Oh, that's right! We're only human shields to you, and now that she's done her part and practically died for you, she's no longer useful!"

The Silencing Charm hit him hard enough to make him stagger. It knocked the breath from his lungs, and he gaped at Neville who was standing with his wand perfectly level at Ron's head. Panting, Ron looked back at his friend. Harry's face was pale. The green irises dulled by the dark circles ringing his eyes. He also looked thinner. As he did at the end of every summer after escaping the Dursleys. Usually by January Harry had a bit more weight on him. Ron felt sick as his words caught up with him. He mouthed a weak apology, still Silenced, and practically fled the room.

Unsurprisingly, when he looked around again, he found himself out on the pitch. He screamed his frustrations to the world, attacking the snow with vicious kicks and punches. He couldn't do this! What the hell was the point of doing any of this alone? Harry and Hermione were his reasons to fight, to do better in school. What the hell was he without them? Hermione was gone. Her mind a bloody mess because he hadn't been watching her back! Harry was going places Ron couldn't follow! Ron was only holding him back. Because there was nothing special about Ron. He wasn't super powerful or super smart. He was useless to Harry. No wonder Snape was his new best friend. Snape probably knew tons of Dark Arts and battle spells. He'd already proved dead useful with his bloody potions.

Ron screamed and kicked until he was too exhausted to continue. He stood panting, alone in the dark, with nothing left to give.

"Ron."

He turned to see Harry waiting patiently. His friend gestured at the bleachers. Ron followed him, silent and numb. They sat side-by-side for a long minute. Ron's hands hung limp between his knees while Harry had his tucked under his arms for warmth. The sky sparkled with thousands of stars. The moon sat fat and full, casting blue light that was reflected by the snow.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it." His voice was hoarse and raw, his throat painful.

"I know," Harry answered quietly.

"Shit." Ron scrubbed uselessly at his hair. "It's just everything, you know? Hermione's gone, and we haven't any word on how she's doing. You're doing important stuff with the Order, and I can't even join the bloody thing. And you're always gone, never in classes. You didn't even come back to the dorm last night. Then there's these bloody articles, and I'm pissed, Harry!"

He twisted sideways, desperate to make Harry understand. Harry's head was ducked, his hair casting shadows across his face. Ron reached out and firmly grasped his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell us about the Dursleys? If we'd have known, we would've done something to get you out of there, mate. My brothers and I rescued you second year. Stole Dad's car and broke those bloody bars off your window to get you out. We would have done that every year if you'd've told us! You acted like it wasn't fun there, but you never let on how bad it was."

Harry finally glanced up. Even in the dark Ron could see he was still too pale, eyes a little too wide. "Why I didn't tell you has nothing to do with you, Ron. It just wasn't anything to do with my life here."

Ron's hand tightened as he gave his friend a warning push. "It does, Harry, because it has to do with _you_." The anger began to return as he grew frustrated with his inability to make Harry understand. "If I'm your best friend, Harry, I should know about your life and not have to read the details from a bloody rag!"

Harry ducked his head again, his hands clenching around his knees. Ron felt like an arse for pressing, but he knew he was right. He felt it. Harry could either talk to him or he couldn't. He had a best friend, or he didn't. It was that simple in Ron's mind. He let his hand drop from Harry's shoulder as the silence stretched. He had his answer.

"I didn't say anything at first because I was ashamed, and it didn't really feel like a big deal."

Ron froze, literally holding his breath, as Harry began to talk.

"I mean, that's how my life always was. It wasn't great, but it was normal for me. And I was so happy to be at Hogwarts with the first friends I'd ever had in my whole life. I can't tell you what that was like for me. How much you and Hermione mean to me."

Ron shifted a bit uncomfortably at the praise. It wasn't very easy to hear that kind of stuff, but like hell was he going to let embarrassment stop what he'd demanded in the first place. So Ron stilled again and directed his full attention to the soft words Harry was speaking.

"The Dursleys were on a different planet as far as I was concerned. I was free of them for the first time. No way was I inviting even their memory to infect my life here. But when summer drew closer, I did tell Dumbledore I wasn't happy there, that I didn't want to go back. He brushed me off. He didn't understand, and there were wards around the house that protected me, not that I knew it at the time. I just thought he was another adult who wouldn't take me seriously. I learned early on that I had to take care of myself, so I belted up and went back."

Ron gritted his teeth to keep from yelling that it didn't have to be that way. Harry could have told _him_, and Ron would have made sure he came to the Burrow instead. But one look at the grim, empty expression on Harry's face was enough to still his tongue.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust you, I just…" Harry took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. Ron really, really hoped he wasn't crying. He had no idea what to do if he was. "I wanted to protect what I had here. I wanted to keep my Wizarding life far from their influence. Here I was Harry without the Dursleys. I didn't want you or Hermione seeing them when you looked at me. And you would've. You would think about what they did, or always question if the Dursleys were at the root of my decisions. That would've really sucked, Ron. I don't know what else to say."

Ron glared out at the pitch. On one hand, he could understand Harry's point, but on the other, Ron still felt he needed to know. Otherwise, he'd never really know Harry. The sense of closeness between them would always be a lie, wouldn't it? "I'd like to think we wouldn't have done that, but maybe we would. I mean, Hermione does like to analyze things. But we're older now. We can understand better than we could as kids." He turned to look back at Harry. "Will you tell me now? I promise not to do what you just said."

"What do you want to know?" Harry's face darkened with blood, a sign of anger.

"Dumbledore told us that this summer was the first time they… hit you," Ron winced a bit, but he bulled through. "Is that true? If it is, what did the paper mean when it said there was evidence you'd been 'severely abused since infancy'?"

Harry abruptly got to his feet and began pacing. But he was still talking and that's all that mattered to Ron. "Why do you need to know this crap, huh?" Green eyes flashed over at him and then away. "They smacked me around a few times, but if they went farther than that my accidental magic kicked in. Not that I knew what it was. I didn't know why strange things happened sometimes. I was convinced most of the stuff was somehow Dudley's doing. He was always trying to get me in trouble."

"So what then?" Ron asked carefully. A cold wind whipped their hair around their faces, and Ron had no idea if it was natural or if Harry's magic was manifesting because of his distress.

"It was mostly verbal and emotional abuse, okay, Ron? Does that make you happy? You get to know all the dirty little details no one else knows."

"It's not like that," Ron snapped, glaring hotly. "I just want to help."

"You can't." Harry deflated and wrapped his arms around his skinny torso. "You can't, Ron. It's too late. It's over. The Dursleys are no longer in the picture. You can't take it back for me. If you really want to help, then let me put them in the past and leave them there. Help me take away their power over my life."

Ron nodded slowly. "All right. Tell me about the Order, then. You didn't come back to the dorm last night."

Harry flashed him a grateful little smile and sat down again. "I helped Diggle with an old spell. It built some kind of memory construct at the Burrow. Moody's going to use it for training purposes. It was a killer spell, and I can't use magic for at least three days until my reserves recover. Oh, and I made your mum the Order Treasurer. That's where I was all afternoon. At Gringotts with her."

Harry laughed, so Ron figured he must look funny with his mouth hanging open, but damn!

"What time is it?"

Ron eyed the too innocent expression Harry wore as he flicked his wand. "Seven thirty."

Harry's smile widened. "Dinner's over. Fifteen minutes 'til training."

Ron about had a heart attack. Without another word, he leapt from the bench and sprinted for the school. Harry's laughter trailed in his wake.

**xXxXxXx**

The Healers stupidly thought burdening her with news from outside would compromise her progress. What they didn't know was that she summoned and duplicated good old Gloryweather's stash every Wednesday morning, and today was Wednesday. She always brought a few days worth of papers to occupy her time in the relatively low maintenance ward. Hermione waited for the middle-aged witch to slip through the privacy curtains surrounding the Longbottoms. Now! Hermione snatched the papers from the air, smug in her cleverness, but that feeling evaporated like so much smoke when she caught sight of the front page headline. **Leader of the Light Abused by Muggle Family**. It was dated two days ago.

She'd known, of course, since summer that Harry had been abused, but the details in the Muggle articles made it more _real_ somehow. Briefly seeing bruises on Harry's face was one thing. She'd seen Harry injured before and he always came back fighting. The severe emotional abuse described by Dudley was something else altogether and made her stomach knot painfully. Hermione quickly snatched up the second paper. It was dated yesterday.

**An Interview with Lord Potter**

_This interview was taken by Ms. Emmeline Vance of the _Daily Prophet_ on the afternoon of January 23__rd__ in the year 1996._

EV: Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Thank you for agreeing to do this interview.

HP: Thank you for this opportunity. I just wish it was under better circumstances.

EV: Not at all. The people wish to hear your story. It is my job to help you tell it.

HP: That's too kind, Ms. Vance.

EV: Is that sarcasm I hear in your voice, Mr. Potter?

HP: The media and I have a colorful history. The recent press conference has not restored my trust.

EV: I will endeavor to change your opinion.

HP: Thank you, Ms. Vance, and I'll try to let my opinion be changed.

EV: You mentioned the conference on Sunday. I assume you want to clarify a few things that were brought up there?

HP: Actually, I was hoping we could both do a bit of clarifying.

EV: How so?

HP: I'm aware that the public has a reasonable interest in my character due to my position in the community. However, it seems to me that other public figures are afforded more respect. Topics, such as what Skeeter brought up, are usually handled more delicately, allowing for the person of interest to comment or not as they choose. I received no such warning or opportunity.

EV: I fail to see what you need clarified, Mr. Potter.

HP: I want your opinion as to why I am treated differently so I can do what I can to remedy the situation.

EV: I'm sorry, but I don't have an answer.

HP: I see. I'm sorry for putting you on the spot, Ms. Vance. I just wanted to use this opportunity to explain my frustrations. It seems every time I turn around I'm either being slandered by your paper or worshiped, and no one bothers to actually ask me what happened or what I think.

EV: What did happen, Mr. Potter? Were you abused?

HP: My childhood was not ideal, but neither was I in danger of death or insanity. When I turned eleven and came to Hogwarts, my situation changed completely. I never visited Surrey during the holidays, and I stayed with friends the majority of my summers. I can honestly tell you that I suffered more trauma and physical damage here by wizards. I nearly died fighting a basilisk to protect the school when I was twelve. Not to mention the rogue Dementors when I was thirteen. If it hadn't been for Professor Lupin teaching me the Patronus, I would have lost my soul. I won't even mention all the times I faced Voldemort. I was never in such danger with my family.

EV: No one doubts your efforts to protect us. It is your methods and motivations that have a few concerned.

HP: My methods?

EV: For example, would you eradicate all Muggles in the belief it would protect the Wizarding world?

HP: No! Of course not! I am in no way anti-Muggle, nor am I a supremacist of any kind. Growing up, I thought I was a Muggle, so magic is really precious to me, even to this day. That's why I fight so hard to protect this world, despite the real injuries I've suffered here. Besides, I am a wizard dedicated to the Light. Such bloodlust and hatred are not compatible with my magic.

EV: I'm not sure I understand what that means.

HP: While some wizards have a choice between Light, Dark, and neutral spells, some are born called to one end of the spectrum. That means I am unable to perform Dark magic, and if I am not in a compatible mindset to utilize my Light magic fully, then my spells will be significantly weakened.

EV: Are there many people called to use Light or Dark magic?

HP: More than you would think, but that doesn't mean people are born good or evil. Light and Dark have nothing to do with morality. That is a modern misconception in England. Both are natural forces and essential to the balance of the world. That is why I support the Alliance Treaty. The Dark Lord swore a magical oath to forgo his plans to take over the Wizarding world and to cease all attacks on our community. Should he become a Dread Lord once more, I will move to stop him.

EV: I admit that is reassuring, Mr. Potter.

HP: I would have explained all of this long ago, but no one asked me.

EV: I don't believe that will be a problem anymore.

HP: Thanks, I think.

EV: Thank you, Mr. Potter. You certainly have given us much to think about.

Hermione was impressed. Harry's responses were clearly his own, but the dialogue showed a maturity she had not expected. She also noted that he had not actually said anything about his childhood or the abuse. Not that he should in such a public forum, but still. She wanted to floo to Hogwarts and demand to know if he was alright. To tell him that he wasn't a worthless freak and didn't deserve to be shoved in a closet. That his life was just as valuable as those he would die to protect.

Her curtains were flung apart, startling her into dropping the paper. It fluttered to the floor as Gloryweather glared at her. Hermione straightened her shoulders and met the witch head on. "I'm ready to start my therapy now. I'll take the potions. Whatever it takes to get well," she said with determination.

Gloryweather blinked at her in surprise. "Why the change of mind?"

For the first time, Hermione became aware of how heavy her hair was from grease. Of the placement of all her books with military precision around her bed. Of the itchy hospital smock and the hunger in her belly. "My friends need me, and…" She looked around at the safe haven she'd built and saw instead an empty prison. "This isn't living. I want to be free again."

Gloryweather smiled at her with such sincere joy that Hermione couldn't help smiling back.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry laughed with the rest of his Housemates as Neville regaled them with the misadventures of Dean and Seamus, which involved a lot of Blubber pus and flailing legs. Ron was especially smug because he'd warned them and they had disregarded his advice.

"Their loss," Harry agreed with a grin.

"Mr. Potter, please see me after lunch."

Harry turned to see McGonagall had stopped behind him. Her stern expression gave no hint to her thoughts. "Yes, ma'am," he told her respectfully, but he maintained eye contact, afraid to show signs of submission and lose the new-found understanding they had between them.

McGonagall swept passed, continuing to the Head table without another word.

"What's up?" Ron questioned, one cheek already bulging with food.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No clue. Maybe she wants to review the projects the professors set for me."

Ron swallowed quickly. "Whatcha get?"

"Sprout wants me to detail the process of creating a viable cross-germination between two magical plants. She assured me there would be many failed experiments before I actually succeed and wants semi-regular reports detailing every attempt."

Ron and the others laughed while Neville shook his head with a low whistle. "That's not easy, but at least it will be interesting."

"Thanks, Nev." Harry flashed him a wry smile. "She said I could hit you up for information as long as I cite you as my source and it's not in excess, so expect random Herbology questions from me in the future."

"Sure, Harry. I did a similar project in third year. I'll be glad to help."

Harry shook his head, mystified over how Neville could be so oblivious to his genius with plants. He was the equal of Severus with potions, or McGonagall with transfiguration. It was a shame he didn't get as much attention as the stars in the more popular magical fields.

"What about your Charms project?" Pravati asked.

"Most charms fade pretty quickly, lasting only a few minutes unless you continue the spell, but the upper level charms are nearly permanent. I have to write a credible theory of the power source of these charms and detail experiments that support my theory."

"Wow." Her dark brown eyes were wide with astonishment. "We're only now starting semi-permanent charms, and those are tough enough to understand. We won't actually get to permanent charms until next year."

"Apparently my consistent Outstandings on the homework and tests this year have convinced Flitwick that I can handle the challenge." Harry rolled his eyes, making the others laugh. Voldemort hadn't done him any favors by flaunting his decades of experience with magic, that was for sure.

"And Transfiguration?" Ron asked with morbid curiosity.

"Technically we still don't have a teacher yet, but maybe that's why McGonagall wants to talk to me. I don't have a DADA project, either."

"You're life is a DADA project," Ron joked.

When the laughter died down, Neville spoke up. "What about Potions? You must be glad Snape isn't the teacher anymore. He'd have made it impossible."

"Severus is alright," Harry said defensively, eyebrows lowered in a semi-glare.

"Maybe now," Ron allowed. "But not before."

Harry had to give him that. "Well, Slughorn decided I had to either create a whole new potion or significantly improve a known potion. I have to keep a record of the entire process, of course. Just like with the others."

His classmates stared at him in horror. "I take it back. Slughorn is as bad as Snape," Neville breathed, voice low.

Harry laughed. "He told me it's okay if I fail as long as I show intelligence and skill during my experiments. He said there was nothing wrong with aiming high and falling a little short. The real mistake would be not to aim high in the first place."

"Slytherin philosophy," Ron sniffed.

Harry punched his shoulders. "I think it's a good one, you prat."

Everyone laughed.

Harry left lunch feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He was still smiling by the time he reached the gargoyle and rode the stairs up to McGonagall's office. The Headmistress was already waiting behind her desk, her fingers tapping the side of her tea cup in a quick staccato rhythm. Her eyes were narrowed, which further revealed her displeasure.

"What happened?" he asked, his smile disappearing. It was clear this wasn't about school work.

"A group of undeclared civilians have arrived asking to join the training we're providing for the students. It seems a quote by you was interpreted to mean Hogwarts would provide for the needs of any who requests it." Her lips compressed into a thin white line, and Harry nearly flinched. She was _very_ displeased. "I flooed the Minister, but he insisted there wasn't room for such an operation. He will provide Aurors to assist, but clearly Hogwarts with its open grounds is a better location."

Harry didn't need her to tell him the Minister was pushing them in response to the pushing Harry had done over the tax cuts and his outspoken demeanor at the last meeting. He was learning that in politics there wasn't a simple line of action and reaction. Instead, every action created a circular chain of reactions that looped long into the future.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed still further. "I won't have the school disrupted. We're already behind due to the week of cancelled classes in the wake of Albus' passing, and this week will be the third of no Transfiguration or Defense."

"What do you suggest?" Harry asked helpfully.

"We'll set up some tents and a small training area by the lake on Hogsmeade's side. It's still under Hogwarts' wards, but not easily visible from the school, except for possibly Hagrid's classes. I'll warn Hagrid to keep the students away from that area, and I'll make it very clear to the civilians they aren't to have any contact with the students or approach the school."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed with a slight shrug to show he had nothing to contribute. "Do you want me to assign our soldiers to their program?"

McGonagall shook her head. "No. We'll take their training in shifts. The Aurors will handle this week. We'll take the second."

Feeling mischievous, Harry put on his most innocent expression and asked, "Should I invite Death Eaters to cover the third?"

McGonagall actually laughed. Her smile softened her features and took years off her face. "I'm not quite sure the public is ready for that, Mr. Potter. Although it might make them think twice before asking for instruction."

That made him think about what they _should_ be learning. "The Aurors should focus on evacuation drills. The null effect renders those without greater than average power to nearly squibs. They need to be taught what to do if they don't have access to spells. Maybe we should give them Muggle guns and teach them to shoot."

"I'll raise the idea with the Aurors when they arrive," McGonagall promised. "Now, I'm sure you have projects to work on. I suggest you get busy."

Harry gave her a wry smile and happily left her to deal with the new situation.

His first destination was the dungeons. Harry felt his palms grow slick and his heart rate increase. This would be the first time Harry would talk to Severus since Monday. They'd seen each other Monday night at training before he was taken to the Burrow, of course, but it didn't really count since they'd both been focused on other things.

Severus opened at his knock, a fierce scowl twisting his features.

Harry looked up at him shyly through his bangs. "Um, sorry for bothering you, but, ah, I was wondering if you had a minute? I have a few questions about potions and Dark communication spells?"

As Harry hoped, the mention of academic questions regarding potions and the Dark Arts caught Severus' attention, and the older teen opened the door with a sigh.

Harry stepped inside and saw that the coffee table had been transfigured into a long table. Four thick tomes lay open at various pages and several scrolls were laid out, each containing precisely organized notes. Wonderful spells allowed for the moving of words or sentences on the page, which made taking notes and paper organization so much easier. Not even a Muggle computer was better.

Harry squinted at the books, but he couldn't make out the words through the obscuring spell cast over the table. He turned and lifted an eyebrow at Severus' paranoia.

"What did you need, Harry?" Severus asked impatiently. His left hand lifted to hook his hair behind his ear, and Harry had to squelch the insane urge to try the move himself.

"I'm now on an independent studies program," he said quickly, hoping his face wasn't red. "I wanted to know if you could tell me the first steps of trying to create or improve a potion."

Severus shifted his weight to one hip and tilted his head slightly in thought. "First, have a goal in mind. It may evolve later during the process, but you need a starting point. Second, you research possible ingredients that would give the desired effect. Third, you research potions that have an effect similar to the one you are trying to create. Fourth, you begin experimentation and start developing your own recipe."

Harry wasn't surprised by such a detailed answer. He'd expected such from Severus. At the first word, he'd crouched and quickly retrieved some parchment and a Never-Out quill from his bag and dutifully recorded each step as Severus said them. He looked up now, a smile on his face. "Thanks. This will be a great help. I would have started with the experimentation first."

Severus actually winced at that. "Clearly you aren't academically inclined."

"Nope," Harry answered cheerfully and put away his things. "I'm better at doing things." When he got to his feet and looked at his friend, he was surprised to see a fading blush across the sharp cheeks. He had no idea what could have caused such a reaction.

"Anything else, Potter?"

Harry frowned, further confused by the sudden use of his last name. "Actually, yes. Do you know of any way to contact someone who is in an unknown location, possibly out of the country, and has blocked owl access?"

"Many ways," Severus answered, sneering at Harry's ignorance.

"I want to send a letter and be certain he gets it. What would you need for something like that?" Harry asked patiently.

Severus' attitude fell away as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in thought. "Do you have any of the recipient's hair or blood?"

"No." Harry grimaced. "Why would I keep something like that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Severus asked back. "That makes it harder, then. Do you have anything that he spelled and still contains his magic?"

"Actually…" Harry's mind flashed to the Marauder's map. His father, Sirius, and Remus had created it together. "I think I might."

Severus nodded, his hair swaying forward with the sharp movement. "Bring it to me tomorrow, along with the letter. I'll be ready to cast the spell, then." Harry began to grin, excitement and anticipation making his blood race, and Severus narrowed his dark eyes in warning. "Keep in mind, I can't guarantee a response. Unless you want me to include a compulsion?"

Harry hesitated, actually considering it. He knew Severus wouldn't judge him for using a compulsion and would keep quiet about it. Harry mentally slapped himself. He couldn't compound his guilt by further abusing Remus' trust. "No. No, don't do that."

Severus inclined his head, thankfully not mentioning Harry's hoarse voice or how long it took him to answer. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Harry agreed and left without another word.

He had much to think about and a letter to write. Just thinking about it made his palms damp. What was he going to say? What _could_ he say to justify whatever had sent Remus running? He certainly didn't want to be around anyone else while he worked it out. The Room of Requirement was no longer an option. Too many people knew about it, and he wasn't even sure when the DA was using it these days. He didn't want to show up and be roped into helping them. The library would have students studying. The pitch was never vacant for long. He'd be waylaid on the way to the forest, not to mention he'd be distracted by keeping an eye out for anything trying to eat him.

An idea popped into his head and Harry began to smile. It was the perfect place. Ten minutes later, Harry dropped down the slide in the girl's bathroom and strode through the Chamber of Secrets. Since he was the only one in the whole school who spoke Parseltongue, it was the one place he'd be guaranteed privacy.

Harry looked around the spacious chamber. It had been years since he'd been down here. It was filthier than he remembered and freezing cold. A few areas were collapsing, damaged by his battle with the basilisk. Harry winced, no longer able to avoid the most obvious thing in the room. The huge basilisk corpse lay near the doors. It still looked as big as he remembered, and he shuddered at the thought of fighting it again. He should have died that night. If it hadn't been for Fawkes…

He shoved away the memories and ignored everything else. He was here for a reason. He needed to concentrate on Remus.

It didn't take him long to find a suitable nook at the foot of the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin. A Lumos spell created a stable ball of light that hovered a few feet above his head. Harry took out some parchment and his quill and braced the paper against his knees. Brow creased, he chewed at the end of the feather. Slowly, still not sure what he was going to write, he pressed the quill tip to the clean parchment.

_Dear Remus,_ he wrote. _I have no family left. They all die for me. Because of me. Sirius, my parents. So, I have no one but you. Sirius was named my godfather, I know, but I always kind of thought you shared the position with him. I think my father would have thought so, too. That's why I'm writing. I really need to talk to you. I don't recall our last meeting, but by your absence I fear the worst._

_You see, I was under the influence of Voldemort since the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore discovered the truth, and in the process of freeing me, he died. He died for me. Other people have died for me, too. Cedric, even Severus died for me in a way. So here I am. Free now, with little to no recollection of my actions during the seven months following the battle in the Ministry. I can't tell you how sick I am over what I've learned I'm guilty of. _

_Please. I need to know whether you should be added to my lists of wrongs committed. Or possibly the other list of those I've killed. Oh god I hope you get this and can read it. Please be alive and well! I know my purpose. I am needed to do my duty, and I have much to make up for, but sometimes I don't know if I'm strong enough, Remus. This weight I carry. It chokes me. Some days I can't breathe. I'm scared one morning I won't be able to force the next breath. I'm so scared I'll fail to make any of this right again. That they'll keep dying and I'll drown in all the blood. _

_I probably shouldn't be telling you this. It doesn't matter. It's not why I'm writing. I needed you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so deeply sorry for Sirius. For anything I did to you before I came to my senses. I don't expect or deserve forgiveness, but please, I need to know you're okay._

_Harry Potter_

**Chapter end.**

A/N: **What do you think happened ****between Voldie-Harry and Remus? **A Very Special Prize to whomever has the best guess! Lol!


	23. Consequence

**A/N: **Sorry for the long delay. This chapter is jammed packed, so hopefully you'll forgive me. I've moved to a new country, but now that I am settled again, I hope chapters can come more regularly again. Enjoy, and please review! Thanks.

**Consequence**

The Infirmary was quiet and empty as Poppy waited for one of her more frequent patients. When Harry finally arrived, she gave him a gentle smile. Usually the boy had to be dragged in by his gang of friends. He was only coming voluntarily now because he was nearly recovered and knew he wouldn't be kept. Determined to do her best despite his stubborn attitude, Poppy gestured the teen to one of her beds and summoned privacy curtains around him.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked gently.

He gave her a charming smile that fooled her not a whit. "I feel great, Madam Pomfrey."

She nodded as if in agreement while really thinking he'd been far from fine for so long that he no longer had an acceptable definition of the word. She didn't tell him this, of course. It was in her best interest to keep him amenable and cooperative.

Her scans revealed he was underweight and still suffered from his years of starvation. The potions that the elves tainted his food with once a month since his first year helped, but magic worked best on fresh injuries or illnesses. Long standing damage was harder to heal. That was why immediate medical attention was so vital. She wished she could heal his poor eyesight – also a legacy of long-term malnutrition during developmental years – but the best she could do was halt the deterioration.

With a mental shake of her head, Poppy focused on what she could fix. His magical levels were low, but he was no longer dangerously fatigued. At least not magically. "You're recovering," she praised him, always giving good news before bad. "If you sleep eight to ten hours for next two nights and eat three large meals each day, I will clear you to resume training on Saturday."

Harry grinned at her happily, and she once again questioned sanity. Any other teen would have been eager to have an excuse to skip the torture sessions that were disguised as war training. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. That would be great."

"Only if you do your part," she reminded firmly. "Now, are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Not so much," he answered with a shrug, his green eyes wide and guileless. "It takes a bit to actually fall asleep, but once I do, I'm out. I haven't had nightmares in a long time."

_That's because you work yourself to exhaustion,_ she thought but didn't say. "That's good, Harry. And are you having trouble eating?"

He shook his head hard, causing his already messy hair to fluff up like the feathers of a disgruntled owl. "Not at all. I'm always hungry lately."

That was good. Usually his appetite was non-existent, his body no longer acknowledging hunger signs. He ate because everyone ate, not because of any physical craving. "Please carry snacks with you at all times. It is very important that you eat as much as possible. Your minimalist portions will no longer serve."

He flushed but nodded obediently. If nothing else, she could trust he'd do it for the sake of potentially helping others.

"Then I believe we are done here. Come back tomorrow evening and I'll see if you're ready to resume training."

Harry lifted his hand briefly to halt her. "I have a meeting at the Ministry tomorrow afternoon and an Order meeting after that. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Poppy frowned. So much depended on this young man that many forgot he was sixteen years old and had physical needs different from the adults and elderly he dealt with, but she had come to accept that Harry's life would not be ideal, medically speaking. That didn't mean she couldn't still do her best. "Come by Saturday morning, then."

Harry rose and gave her a little bow, making her smile. "Thanks again, Madam Pomfrey. See you Saturday."

**O**

Harry left the infirmary feeling a wave of relief. That hadn't been so bad. He hadn't had to fight tooth and nail to escape like he usually did. Pomfrey could still forbid him to train with the others this weekend, but he was confident he would be fully restored by then. Harry detoured to the kitchen. If stuffing his face would satisfy the relentless witch, then that's what he would have to do.

Nearly thirty minutes later, his bag was packed with fruit, crackers, and cheese. He nearly regretted his side-trip. He was anxious to contact Remus and hadn't thought dealing with the elves would take so long. Harry hurried quickly toward the dungeons. He couldn't bear to put it off any longer.

Severus opened his door wearing slacks and a simple button-down. "Come in."

The lack of a scowl told Harry he wasn't interrupting anything. He opened his mouth to ask about the spell he was going to use to get his letter to Remus when he caught sight of the sitting room. The furniture was shoved up against the walls while the carpet was pulled back to reveal the cold stone floor. In the exact center of the room, four pewter bowls sat at the compass points with runic lines and strings of Latin connecting them in a diamond pattern. The lettering was red, painted in Severus' blood.

"Do you have the item with his magical signature?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, heart thumping. He knelt, eyes never leaving the array, and rummaged in his bag. He found his father's map by feel and handed it to the older teen. "It's not just his magic, but it's all I've got." He stood and looked over at Severus when his friend remained silent. The cold hatred on Severus face made Harry's whole body tense up.

"I know that map," Severus said lowly. "It took me until last year… I mean, my seventh year, to develop a potion to keep me off that bloody thing." Black eyes snapped up at him, glittering with betrayal. "Who are you contacting?"

Harry paled, sickened by the reminder that his father and godfather had participated in the abuse of one of his closest friends. "What they did to you was wrong. They may not have paid directly, but they did pay, Severus. Sirius spent twelve years wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban, and now he's dead. I watched him fall with my own eyes. James… He was an utter bastard to you, but he was my father. He died for me." Harry looked down at the map, one of only two heirlooms he owned from his father. "And Remus suffers every month, alone and friendless, unable to hold a job despite his intelligence. If he hadn't taught me the Patronus Charm – which all the other teachers said I was too young to learn – I would have died. The Dementors would have taken my soul."

The map was snatched violently from his hand. Harry looked up in surprise to see Severus sneering at him.

"I'm doing this for you, not for your rabid werewolf. Give me your letter."

Harry smiled, chest tight with gratitude and handed him the envelope with his letter. "Thank you."

Severus scoffed. He moved to the array and knelt in the middle with casual grace. He placed both parchments in front of him and quickly pulled back his hair into a high ponytail. His hands worked with quick efficient movements, and Harry felt a strange flutter in his belly as he watched the older teen work.

"You didn't say anything about Pettigrew. He'll get the letter as well."

Harry cleared his throat, blushing as he pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. "No. His only contribution to the map was crawling into hard to get to spaces with it tied to his animal form's back." His mouth twisted with bone deep loathing. "He's a Death Eater. Has been for decades. He betrayed my parents' location to Voldemort and got them killed."

Severus nodded, expression solemn. "So you said. At the press conference. He was their Secret Keeper."

Harry nodded and looked away. He didn't want to talk about it.

Severus turned away without further comment and began to summon elements to the bowls. Harry looked back to watch as fire was placed into the bowl that sat at the North point. Water went to the South, while Severus trapped a breeze and settled it in the bowl to the East. A handful of dirt filled the last bowl at the West. Severus then lifted a sharp cutting knife to his index finger. Blood welled, and he used it to draw four lines from each bowl to the center of the diamond where he placed the map and letter. Last, he pressed the bloody finger to the center of the map and used it as glue to adhere the letter to its surface.

He stepped clear and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. "Don't interrupt me. This will take a few minutes."

"I won't," Harry promised and retreated until his back hit the wall to give him more room.

Severus focused intently on the array he'd created. After a long moment, his eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Slowly, he lifted his wand in a delicate three-fingered grip. Harry's eyes widened, fascinated. Those slender lips began to move, shaping words Harry couldn't yet hear, but he could feel the magic in the room growing heavy, listening. The elements jumped and jerked in their bowls until they began to very slowly rise in a gentle spiral.

Severus was whispering now, his long lashes brushing his cheeks with every slow blink of his eyes. The map began to blur, the blood-words that formed the diamond began to sizzle as a miniature tornado of fire, water, air, and earth encircled the parchments. Severus yelled out, making Harry jump and shut his eyes against a flare of red light. When he looked back, all that was left was four empty bowls. The blood and the elements were gone. There was no evidence the map and letter had ever sat in the center of the array.

"Handy that it cleans up after itself," Harry said softly, the joke falling a bit flat. It was hard to be a smartass in the presence of such magical wonder.

Severus smirked. He tucked away his wand and began to shake out his arms. "Not all Dark rituals do so. Some leave quite the mess behind."

"What happened to them?" Harry asked, already knowing it was way too late to be worrying about the map.

"You can't block against the raw elements. You need them to live. Therefore, no defense or ward will keep the letter from appearing to Lupin until he takes them up with his own hand or uses his magic upon them. The spell will be complete once a physical or magical connection is established, so I can't be held at fault if the mangy animal blasts them or banishes them. You didn't want me to adhere a compulsion, if you recall."

"He wouldn't destroy the map," Harry answered a bit uncertainly. He wasn't all together sure what Remus would do, but he really hoped he wouldn't blast the map or banish it. "Will the map even work anymore?"

Severus shrugged. "Any magic Lupin put into it will be consumed by the spell, so it might be fine or destroyed or anywhere in between. It's hard to determine since three wizards worked in corroboration to create the map."

Harry felt cold and wrapped his arms around his torso. He felt grief at the loss of his treasure, but he didn't regret it. In the end, the map was just an item, and Remus was so much more important. His father would have agreed.

Severus made a noise of disgust. "Cheer up, Potter. It is only Lupin's contribution that will be used. It stands to reason that he'll know what to do to fix your map."

Harry peeked through his bangs with a warm smile. His stomach was fluttering again. "Yeah. I'm sure he will."

Severus gave a semi-shrug of his shoulders and changed the subject. "I'm working on my own potion project. If you'd like, I think I have enough space that we can share the books and not be in each other's way."

Harry's smile widened. "That would be brilliant." He hurried forward and helped Severus return the room to rights, feeling quite content to be working together again.

They studied companionably for several hours until an elf appeared inquiring if Severus wanted his usual for lunch. Harry was surprised so much time had passed, but he'd gotten a lot done. He had decided that the type of potion he wanted to improve and a list of ingredients to research. He wanted to try to better the current invisibility potions. There wasn't a single potion that blocked detection from all six senses, and he was certain that with Severus' help, he could figure out a way to make that possible.

"Brussel sprouts?" Harry inquired with a grin as they sat at Severus' table.

"They are nutritious," Severus answered with a haughty sniff.

Harry laughed. "I'm sure."

"If it's not to your tastes, you are free to leave."

Harry frowned, wondering if he'd hurt his friend's feelings. "No. It's fine. I'm not too picky when it comes to food."

Dark eyes pinned him in place. "I am surprised. Usually children who have suffered starvation grow to be quite particular about food in one way or another."

Blood heated Harry's cheeks. He hated talking about the Dursleys. "I'm not most people," he muttered darkly, refusing to meet Severus' too-sharp gaze. He poked at his mashed potatoes, his appetite gone. Unfortunately, he remembered Pomfrey's orders and sighed, forcing a bite past his lips.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I have certain issues with food from my own childhood. I was curious. Forgive me."

He dared a glance across the table to see Severus frowning down at his plate. "It's okay. I just don't like talking about it. It makes me remember when normally I never think of them." Harry sighed. "I've had to think about them a lot lately, and I'd just like to be allowed to forget it once more. It's over. It doesn't matter."

Severus nodded once, but his frown didn't disappear. "I understand. However, you can't say it doesn't matter. It does. It will always leave its mark on your life. It's not something you can just escape or deny."

"Are you talking about you or me?" Harry snapped. He regretted it nearly instantly when Severus' cheeks went red in anger or embarrassment and those dark eyes shuttered, erecting a barrier between them again. He sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair. "Sorry. Look, let's just not talk about this. Okay?"

The rest of the meal passed in silence as Severus acted as if he were alone at the table. Harry took turns feeling guilty as hell and frustrated. Severus knew not to bring up this subject, so why had he? Neither finished what was on their plates, and Harry hurried to gather his things to leave afterward. He opened his mouth to say something several times, but he didn't know the right words. Severus didn't help. He had returned to his books, continuing the silent treatment. Harry sighed again, sad that the good morning had ended so badly.

"Thanks for everything," he finally offered.

Severus didn't answer.

Harry slipped out of the room and carefully shut the door. He could feel the wards snap instantly into place behind him. Frustrated beyond belief, Harry stormed upstairs, heading for the library. He had plenty of other projects to work on besides potions, anyway. Unluckily the library was occupied by a few students who had a free period. Harry ignored them as he slammed his bag down with a scowl, equally ignoring Madam Pince when she shushed him.

"Hello, Harry."

Startled, he spun around. Luna stood before him with a dreamy smile, and he felt his muscles relax. "Hey, Luna."

"The storm is coming. People must prepare or they will bend like long grass in the wind, putting up no resistance. Paradoxically, the unbending oak will burn to ash, an easy target for lightning." She gave him a blinding smile. "But you will find a middle path, Harry. You are a forest lord, after all. You're good with animals. Mostly with those like the Grim and thestrals."

"What?" he gasped. Those two animals were closely related to death, and images of all he'd lost, especially his godfather, flashed through his mind.

"Tomorrow is Friday," she pointed out, still smiling innocently. "It's a very important day. You will show them how to move like animals during a storm, or they will choose to be either grass or oaks."

"What?" he said again dumbly.

Luna patted his shoulder. "Tomorrow, silly. Tomorrow is the day they decide. And you will orient their choice." Suddenly, she frowned. "You do know you have a very important day tomorrow, don't you? You're ready?"

His heart was racing in his chest. Was Luna telling him the future depended on how well he did? He hadn't really thought much about the meetings tomorrow, except in passing. He'd been thoroughly reprimanded for his actions in the last political meeting and had basically decided to keep quiet. He'd already messed up badly in the political arena twice. He had no idea what he was doing. And now this!

"Good luck, Harry! I know you can do it!" She rose on tiptoe, oblivious to his distress, and kissed his cheek.

Harry said nothing as she turned and skipped away. What was he going to do? He quickly snatched up his bag and hurried from the library. He needed to talk to McGonagall. Fast.

**xXxXxXx**

Ron looked up in surprise as Harry burst into the common room, his chest heaving. "What's wrong?" he asked getting to his feet. Silence descended around the room as all eyes turned their way. Ron's eyes widened when Harry answered near hysterically.

"What's wrong? _What's isn't wrong?"_

Ron made a split second decision and moved toward Harry, bravely grabbing his arm to tow his best friend back toward the door. "Let's go somewhere else, and we'll talk about it."

Harry growled at him, actually _growled_, but followed willingly enough. The teen's usually quiet footsteps were loud and heavy as they made their way up to the Room of Requirement, and Ron quickened his pace to match the angry stride. He wasn't looking forward to hearing about the latest disaster, but Harry needed him and that made him feel really good. He hadn't felt needed in a long time and he was anxious to be helpful.

They entered the room to find it had morphed into a replica of the Gryffindor common room. Ron moved to their favorite couch in front of the fireplace, but Harry was too worked up to sit. He continuously pulled and tugged at his hair, his cheeks were flushed while his eyes were narrowed dangerously behind his glasses.

Ron braced himself. "What happened?"

Harry answered in a low, angry tone that Ron hadn't heard since third year. "Luna tells me the fate of the world depends on my performance tomorrow, and McGonagall scoffs and insists that I sit back and do nothing! How can she be so blind?"

Ron blinked, confused. "What?"

Harry spun violently to face him. "The international meeting, Ron! That's what!"

He quickly held up his hands in a pacifying manner. "McGonagall wants you to stay quiet during the meeting?"

"Yes! Even after I explained to her that I can't afford to just sit there! Luna said something like there's three choices, fight with too much resistance and we'll all die. Fight with too little resistance and we'll be run over. And the happy third where we actually win this damn war. They'll decided tomorrow, based on something I do or say, and McGonagall thinks it's all nonsense, and even if it wasn't, who's to say me letting Scrimegeour handle the meeting wouldn't produced the desired outcome anyway!"

Ron blinked again at the onslaught of information. "Sit down and tell me about the ambassadors. I'll try and help you think of a strategy to get what you want. What do you want from them anyway?"

Harry collapsed next to him, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Thanks, Ron. I really appreciate it. Severus isn't talking to me right now, and I have no one else who I can ask for help."

Ron scowled. "So, what? I'm your last resort?"

"No! Where do you do get this _shit?"_

Ron practically leapt to his feet as he got up in Harry's face. "Where do you _think?_ You're hardly ever around and you never tell me anything! You didn't tell me about your family, and you won't talk about what's going on with the war. Besides it's not like I can actually help you, right? I should've known. Things must be really desperate for you to come to _me_."

Harry shoved him away. "Shut up! That's not how things are!" He was nearly tomato red with rage. "I don't think of you as a last resort! Yeah, I can't include you in everything, and I'm sorry for that, but, damn it, Ron, I'm doing the best I can! It's not like I asked to take Dumbledore's place!"

"It's not like your really fighting to keep your old friends around either!" Ron accused viciously.

"Fuck you!" Harry nearly hissed. "I came here because I wanted to talk to my best friend. To get help with strategy. I don't prefer Severus to you. I need you both, you idiot! But I guess I'm just shit out of luck." He spun away, afraid if he didn't leave, he'd punch his friend in the face.

Ron grabbed his arm. "What? You gonna walk out? That's it? That's all I deserve?"

Harry jerked his arm away, slashing his hands through the air in agitation. "What do you want from me?"

Ron backed down even though he was still mad. This was getting him nowhere, and Harry seemed incapable of understanding him, anyway. Harry was special. He was a Light Lord and a war leader. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. As much as Harry thought he was just a normal guy, he would never truly understand how insignificant and useless Ron felt sometimes standing in his very long shadow. Fists clenched, he turned away and paced stiffly back toward the couch. He took a deep breath as he sat down, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest.

"Just tell me about this meeting."

Harry stood stiffly, clearly deciding whether to go or stay. Ron stared at him angrily. He wasn't willing to push Harry one way or another. It had to be Harry's choice. He honestly expected Harry to walk away, but his friend came forward with a huff and sat across from him.

As he talked, words clipped with anger, a few things became clear to Ron. Harry had no clear idea of what he wanted. Sure, he knew generalities like creating some kind of international cooperation and not allowing the Muggle authorities to get involved, but he had no specific demands or offers to make the Ambassadors. And Harry had no real means of creating a specific list because he wasn't familiar with the current policies or the history of Britain's magical community with the rest of the world.

"I think you should have a meeting with the Minister before the meeting. Tell him what you want and don't want, and have him advise you how to achieve those things. I think you need to be able to work together with the allies you have now before you try and figure out how to work with international allies."

Harry blinked at him, his shoulders finally dropping into a more relaxed posture. "That's brilliant, Ron." But the hopeful look didn't last long. He deflated and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "But I'm not sure I can trust Scrimegeour to take me seriously."

Ron shrugged. "Trust has to start somewhere, and I don't see why he wouldn't. I mean, it's in his best interest to work with you, too."

Harry nodded. "All right. I'll go back and talk to McGonagall again. Thanks."

"No problem." Ron offered his best friend a tight smile. "Hey, we've been through way worse than this before. We'll figure this out." He hoped.

**xXxXxXx**

Friday morning had Harry waking up before the sun rose. He had to dress nicely and eat something quickly before heading to the Ministry for a pre-meeting meeting with Scrimegeour and Voldemort. The sun was sitting low in the horizon when Harry finally made it to the atrium from McGonagall's floo. Fate conspired to have him arrive at the same time as his advisory, and Voldemort strode onto the lift with him, his silk robes falling around him like a puddle of inky shadows. Harry stood next to him, back straight and face expressionless as red eyes glinted at him, framed by styled dark hair. Thin lips tugged into a smile. When Voldemort spoke, his voice was nearly a hiss, low and coaxing.

"Had you come to me, I would have told you what transpired between your wolf and I."

Harry quickly tried to cover his surprise with anger. "For a price," he snapped, his fists clenching. Wormtail must have gotten a copy of the letter after all and had delivered it to his Master. The words he'd written flashed before his eyes and his face flamed in embarrassment and fury.

"Certainly, but some debts are a pleasure to repay," the Dark Lord purred, moving closer to Harry, forcing him into the corner. "As your _ally_, it is my duty to assist you when you have need, Harry."

Harry ground his teeth, keeping back the hateful words choking him. Voldemort moved still closer until he could taste the Dark magic he'd been so intimately entangled with for months. A long finger traced his jaw before tightening into a painful grip and forcing his face up. Harry growled in warning, glaring defiantly into the Dark Lord's eyes.

Voldemort chuckled and moved away just as the doors opened. Harry strode out, keeping his head high and ignoring his racing heart and damp face. Thankfully, both had cooled by the time he reached Scrimegeour's office. He barely acknowledged the witch at the desk or the two Aurors on guard duty as he strode without slowing into the Minister's spacious office.

Scrimegeour was behind his desk and rose to his feet at Harry's entrance. Harry gave a cool smile in greeting and moved toward one of the seats in front of the huge desk. He didn't turn to look as Voldemort took the chair next to him. The seats were positioned close enough that Harry could just feel the tingle of the wizard's magic against his skin.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Scrimegeour greeted with a pleasant smile. "I am glad for this opportunity to discuss our position before entering into negotiations with our potential allies."

"Save the empty political chatter, Rufus," Voldemort drawled and flicked his fingers negligently toward the paper strewn desk. The reports vanished within a blink of an eye. Scrimegeour stiffened, his eyes tightening. "I didn't want you distracted," the Dark Lord said with a slight grin.

Harry quickly intervened. "I'm sure your papers will be returned to you. Please. We don't have much time."

Scrimegeour shifted his attention from the Dark Lord and pinned Harry with a predatory golden glare. "By all means, why don't you begin, Potter?"

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Why was it everyone insisted on acting like children? They were at war! You'd think they would be able to remember that. "We need to present a united front, especially in front of the foreign Ambassadors. I'm willing to compromise on a few issues, but not on others. For example, I will not support or condone involving the Muggle governments in our protection. I'm willing to listen to any information they give us and use equipment they offer, but I refuse to allow the disclosure of any magical locations."

Scrimegeour said nothing to that for a long minute before sitting slowly, never moving his eyes from Harry. Harry held his gaze calmly. These were things he wouldn't bend on. The Minister finally looked away. His inscrutable glance landed on the Dark Lord, who lounged comfortably in his chair, clearly enjoying the show.

"And how do you feel about this?"

"I agree with Lord Potter. The Muggle governments are a threat to us," Voldemort answered easily.

Scrimegeour nodded once. "Very well. How do you feel about cooperating with countries that disagree and open their territories to Muggle assistance?"

Harry frowned. "We can't trust them not to reveal us as well as their own people, but we should still give aid. This war is between the magical and the non-magical. We have to help our kind as much as possible."

"To any country who welcomes Muggle assistance, we should offer supplies and medical aid, but not allow them access to our strategies or our soldiers," Voldemort stated. His fingers began to drum on the arm of his chair, revealing his impatience.

Scrimegeour narrowed his eyebrows in clear suspicion. "What would we demand in exchange for our aid?"

"The same in return," Harry answered in the Dark Lord's stead. "We're going to need it. This war is only beginning. Things are going to get much worse before they get better."

"How do you know that?" Scrimegeour asked sharply.

Harry blinked in surprise as both men stared at him intently. "It's common sense. It's not prophecy or anything."

Voldemort and Scrimegeour relaxed a bit at that. Harry snorted softly, though he could understand their fear. He hated prophecies probably more than the both of them combined.

"Italy is already facing difficulties when it comes to food. Because it is a peninsula, it suffers from the same threat of being cut off as the British Isles. Their Ambassador mostly wants a pledge that Britain will provide food if not make an actual effort to keep the supply channels open."

"I don't see a problem with that," Harry ventured, only for the Dark Lord to shoot him a reprimanding glare.

"As the Minister has stated," Voldemort sneered, "we face the same threat and should hoard our supplies to be sure England has enough food to withstand a siege."

"You mean, the United Kingdom," Scrimegeour corrected with a pointed glance. "It's not just England under our perview."

Voldemort flicked his fingers dismissively.

Harry sighed. "We should supply aid for as long as we're able. If we grow dangerously low, then of course we should see to our people first."

Scrimegeour nodded, again agreeing. "Spain was particularly interested in the alarm that was set up on the Orkney Isle. Can it be reproduced?"

The Dark Lord eyed the Minister. "It can, though it is Dark magic. It ties the life of the land's leader into the ward, strengthening it enough that it signals the caster before collapsing under the null effect. Also, it will only work once."

Scrimegeour was clearly not happy with this news. Harry turned his face away, remembering the battle at the Orkney Isle and how the alarm had resonated deep in his bones, like the thundering of the ocean.

"Are you saying that the leader will die if the alarm is triggered?"

"Possibly. The Orkney leaders were three. Between them, they merely suffered severe magical exhaustion."

"Can't the alarm be spread among many people, then?" Scrimegeour frowned.

"No," Voldemort dismissed, clearly unimpressed with the Minister's intelligence. "It has to be linked to someone who is recognized as a leader."

"We'll keep it in mind," Scrimegeour allowed before turning to other subjects. "We need to keep our people calm. We have to help them prepare. Those pamphlets and the day training at Hogwarts are good ideas, but we need something more. Shelters people can go to."

"Under the null effect Apparating is safe only for those with above average power, but portkeys and the floo work for a few minutes before collapsing. The problem is, there's no way to know if the destination is any safer." Harry ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "There's no way to ward an area completely. The null effect disrupts even the strongest wards."

"If we cannot guarantee an area is safe through magical means, then we can make it so physically. These are Muggles. They can't just appear at an area. They have to be able to get to it first," Voldemort pointed out. "I suggest we make an underground cavern big enough to hold a town's population for short periods. They can weather the attack there in safety."

Scrimegeour nodded. "We've already considered this and are in the process of negotiating with the goblins."

Harry felt his shoulders relax. That was good. He felt his buzzing anxiety finally go quiet as the talk continued. They were all working together at last. Perhaps they had a chance, after all. Now if only they could get the rest of Europe to cooperate. He slid a glance to the sociopath that fate had forced him to ally with. His hatred and fury hadn't lessened, but he could control himself if it meant the survival of the magical world. As if sensing his thoughts, the Dark Lord looked over. Blood red eyes, evil and compassionless, bore into him. The thin mouth again slid into a smile.

**xXxXxXx**

After the meeting with the Ambassadors, McGonagall traveled with Potter from the Ministry to Grimmauld Place. She was stuck between exasperated and amazed as she eyed Potter's clearly frustrated expression. He seemed to think everything should get done in a single meeting. She'd watched as he'd grown more and more thunderous as talk spiraled into petty arguments and finagling about treaty terms, and at the end of nearly four hours, they still couldn't sign it. They could only present it to their Ministers.

Fortunately, Potter had remained silent, not voicing his clear disgust. He didn't seem to understand, in spite of how often she explained it, that it was impossible for things to be done in a single day when so many people with diverse interests and concerns were involved. This was politics. She hated it as much as he, but it was the reality and he must deal with it. So, yes, she was exasperated with her impatient, young leader. She was also amazed.

She hadn't once seen any subtle snipping or digs from the Dark Lord or the Minister. Potter had somehow convinced them to work together, or at least present a united front, which they had not done at the previous meeting. It went a long way to earning the Ambassador's trust and establishing Britain as a strong nation. Previously she would have said that was impossible as well. Governments had a single leader for a reason. A triad was too easy to splinter, but somehow Potter had stabilized the situation. So perhaps her exasperation wasn't warranted. Perhaps in the future he _would_ get things done in a single meeting, regardless of how many people or countries were involved.

Alastor met them in the entrance room, his wooden leg thumping on the carpeted floor. "Everyone's gathered and ready." The magical eye spun steadily in his socket, but his normal eye remained locked on Potter's face. "The Viaticus is not happy, but the Lux is with you."

She frowned. It wasn't good news despite the proud way Alastor had stated his support. The Order of the Phoenix was a single unit, sheltering all those who were called to the Light or chose the Light of their own free will. If it fractured into two groups, it would be disastrous. The Order wouldn't be able to withstand internal strife of this magnitude. She glanced at Potter and was relieved to see he had paled. Good, he understood the significance of Alastor's message.

They made their way toward the magically enlarged room to find it clearly divided into two. Those in the Lux Lucis stood to the right. Many had their arms folded and looked on the Viaticus with superior expressions. A select few, Potter's inner council so to speak, were actually fingering their wands. Potter looked to her, and she raised an eyebrow in return. This was his mess. He had to fix it. She wasn't trying to be callous. It was simple fact. If he wanted to be their leader, he had to be a leader for them _all_, not just the soldiers.

"Thank you for coming," Potter began. His voice was level and he maintained eye contact with the crowd. "I realized with the help of my Second that I have not involved the whole Order in my decisions as I've should. We are at war, and there will be times where I must act quickly. This wasn't one of those times. I was wrong to appoint a new Treasurer without the Order's vote."

There were angry grumbles from the Viaticus, and the Lux stiffened in preparation.

Potter talked quicker. "I want to make it clear that I am fully aware of each of your abilities and positions. I have Dumbledore's memories of this Order. Fenton Belleview, I considered nominating you as Treasurer, but I feared it would distract you from your important work in the Department of Mysteries. Katrina Stockton, I also considered you. However, I worried about security since you are an Undersecretary at the Ministry. There is some risk of the Minister becoming aware of Order matters."

The muttering began to quiet. McGonagall was impressed. Potter had played that well. He showed he did have knowledge of those in the Order.

"Molly Weasley has been affiliated with me, but that is not why I chose her. I chose her because she had the skill and could guarantee to keep her activities secure. She also had no other duties that could be in competition with her work as Treasurer. However, I will not make such moves in the future without getting a full vote, and I apologies that I didn't seek your council earlier. If any of you strongly feel I made the wrong choice, I'd like to hear it now. It isn't too late to establish a different Treasurer."

The grumbling grew louder, but no one raised their voice loud enough to be counted as true dissent. She smiled wryly as Potter's shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"I also have good and bad news to give the Order. Which would you prefer first?"

There were some chuckles throughout the Lux, but the Viaticus stared stonily up at their young leader. Potter's smile disappeared and his stance tensed again.

"I will give you the bad news. I am raising the monthly dues in accordance to the Order's needs during wartime. It will be spent to outfit the soldiers as well as to help prepare the populace for what is to come. On the other hand, I have arranged a tax break for all of us from the Minister. Anything purchased to help you in the war effort, including food, will be tax free."

Angry glares turned into open-mouthed surprise. Ministers were notoriously stingy, and this tax break was significant. Potter hadn't won their approval, but he had won their forgiveness for his previous misstep.

"We will accept Mrs. Weasley," Philip Patterson said, speaking for the Viaticus. "And we will pay the extra dues as long as we see what it is buying."

Potter nodded. "Thank you, Patterson. I appreciate that. I also want to discuss a special mission for the Viaticus. The public needs reassurance that their magic isn't useless. More than ever, people need to have faith in the power they wield. I want to bring back the old practices to increase our cultural pride. I want all of you to think of ways to do this."

The murmurs that rose this time were not angry. They were interested. Most importantly, the Viaticus had been reassured they were useful and vital to the Order. McGonagall's smile widened. She was honestly proud of Potter, and she felt that the teen was quickly becoming a leader she could follow with pride.

**xXxXxXx**

Lucius was enjoying his time at Hogwarts more than he'd expected. Watching Draco had a lot to do with it. His son had grown into the man he'd always envisioned. His son and Heir had grown cold and precise, blooming into a self-controlled, self-contained warrior. Gone were the childish tantrums and lofty airs Lucius had despaired over. Even as the hours passed during the weekend's intensive training, even as Draco's magical and physical stamina began to wane, his son maintained a detached demeanor, remained graceful and commanding.

Pride trickled through the empty numbness that had saturated Lucius' mind for weeks. Not even Narcissa's growing belly filled with his precious magical twins brought him any joy or excitement. But watching Draco's transformation from child to a deadly glittering sword stirred something in his breast at last. The only thing that dulled his joy was the fact his son's diamond hard eyes more often than not sought Potter.

He'd been free of the brat's presence all week excepting Monday night, but today the boy king had returned to training. Lucius had to admit, even if it were only to himself, the little Lord was impressive. Lucius could see what had ensnared his son. Potter was a natural leader. He unquestionably possessed great magical strength and remarkable physical and mental endurance. Where Draco's strength was in his cold calculations and meticulous execution, Potter was primal heat and instinct.

As Lucius watched the boy who bore his Master's mark upon his brow, he learned Potter revealed his every emotion on his face unless he consciously chose otherwise. That he didn't often ask his fellows for assistance, but he marshaled the students in a defense that benefited them as much as himself. Unsurprisingly, the boy did not hesitate to come to their aid, even if it left him open, but he had not expected Potter to defend the Dark students as vigorously as he did the Light and neutral trainees.

Draco was dangerous now, but Potter would be an equally deadly enemy. Both were leaders of their groups, but Potter went further to stand at the head of more than just his group. He commanded the _room_ when he asserted himself. Draco would have made a good general under Potter if it weren't for whatever had come between them.

Lucius shivered, thinking his son was mirroring his own strenuous relationship with the Dark Lord. He fiercely hoped Draco hadn't experienced the same level of suffering as his father. That's not to say Lucius regretted anything. There had been good times, very good times. He possessed power, prestige, and wealth, in large part due to the Dark Lord. The Dark owned him, soul deep. It wasn't something he could ever deny, but this last year had broken something inside him. Something he hoped never broke in his son.

Yin and Yang, it was no wonder the boys had been caught up in a destructive spiral. However, his son had survived Potter's fire, and Lucius was proud of the man Draco was becoming. Perhaps he could tolerate Potter's existence. Perhaps his Master's command protecting Potter wouldn't chafe too badly. And if the spelled orbs during training were aimed at Potter more than any other student, well, he was just training the boy. The enemy would show no mercy. Potter had to be prepared for that, didn't he?

The third time Potter collapsed, convulsing in agony, Draco's cold grey eyes gave him silent warning, echoed by the equally foreboding black gaze of his childhood friend, Severus Snape. Lucius ignored his son and gave Severus a mocking sneer. Neither had the power to stop his little game, nor did they hold a position strong enough to make him fear reprisals outside of Hogwarts. Those that could rightfully interfere, the Order members or the Aurors, had happily made no move to do so. It seemed Lucius had free reign to play with his prey. A vicious smile slashed across his face as he stalked around the edges of the room, his eyes on Potter's weakened, sweat-drenched form.

His dismissal of the students' power to stop him, however, quickly proved false. The Light – plus Severus, Lucius noted in disgust – formed around Potter in a defensive ring while the Dark and neutral students prowled the outside of the circle, helping to divert the glowing orbs from their target. Potter began to protest, his voice hoarse, saying he could handle it, but he quieted down when the orbs made it through the first defenders as much as not.

Lucius was quite amused as the exhausted teenagers jumped and dodged his determined spell work. Six orbs were hard to battle against, especially since you could only touch them once or they'd explode. It made them hesitate, which often led to the orbs slipping by, closer to their target and Potter's delicate nervous system. In addition, not only did the students have to control and corral the volatile orbs, but they had to shield against the minor jinxes and hexes cast by the other instructors.

At the end of the Orb War, Lucius felt victorious. Potter was semi-conscious, muscles twitching and spasming, his closest followers – Weasley, Longbottom, and a few others – weren't much better, having stood consistently within the blast radius in their attempts to help their leader. Lucius was pleased to note Severus hadn't actually taken it that far and had done his best to remain outside the effect zone. Draco sat limp against a wall, his hair damp and darkened from sweat with his face flushed, but his eyes were watchful, attentive. Lucius enjoyed having his son's eyes on him as he continued to prowl the room.

There was still two and a half hours left on the clock before the students would be released. So far he and the other instructors had been following the script more or less. They had upped the number of orbs and added spelled attacks during the war game, but they had basically repeated the pattern of the weekend before. This final exercise wouldn't. Lucius – with Aiden Avery's persuasive support – had convinced the others to get more creative during the final shielding drills. In preparation, the Aurors and Order members were busy hand feeding the teens water and energy potions while he and Aiden set the stage, so to speak.

"To your groups," Auror Blackwood barked, her voice steely.

The students separated into three distinct groups. Their movements were clumsy, their limbs heavy and heads hanging, despite the refreshment they'd been given. Lucius was quite honestly surprised Potter managed to get to his feet, let alone hold onto his wand. Remarkable endurance, indeed.

Lucius grinned hungrily. Now the true fun would begin. He took his position next to Aiden in front of the Dark group, and he caught the eye of his sister-in-law Andromeda Tonks and Auror Blackwood. Three hip high piles of marbles appeared before each group. With near simultaneous spell-casting, the marbles were propelled violently forward. Lucius and his counterparts, however, jerked their wands up. The students screamed as the missiles fell down upon them like rain. Not only that, but the other instructors began to circle counter clockwise around the room, creating a vortex, attacking them literally from all sides. It was beautiful.

The clever little strategy Potter had invented last weekend fell apart as the students descended into panicked chaos. Cries of pain, desperation, and distress filled the air. Lucius drank them in. He grinned as Draco haltingly gathered the Dark students, having them pair up, one shielding up, the other out.

"Turtle!" Severus yelled, communicating Draco's plans to the whole room.

"To the center!" Potter's anguished voice reached every corner of the room. "Light up! Neutral out! Dark offense!"

Lucius watched stunned, shocked out of his bloodlust.

The students moved as one. It was awkward and inelegant, but they all moved without hesitation. In a few short minutes, the yells and shrieks diminished as the teens formed a tight block in the center of the room. The Light was bunched at the core, wands pointed up and spreading a thick umbrella of protection above them. They were completely vulnerable from the sides, but the neutral students were there, kneeling in front of the Dark to give them room to aim. It was remarkable. It was breathtaking. Feverish eyes glittered out at Lucius from behind the magical shields while the Dark students bared their teeth in death-head grins, shooting down the marbles like swatting flies.

The teens were a unit. They were unbeaten.

"Beautiful," Aiden murmured his approval.

Lucius nodded agreement. The sight was truly astounding. It soothed his battered spirit further. These were England's children. This was the future. And it was glorious.

The door opening caught his attention. Some of the civilians who came to Hogwarts for day training filed inside. They carefully stayed out of the way of the spelled marbles. Andromeda went to talk to them. Whatever was said, Andromeda nodded and went back to her position, firing the marbles up into the air and leaving the men to watch. Lucius observed them. They looked relaxed and calm, attention on the students in clear admiration. Still, they had no reason to be at the school at nearly midnight on a Saturday. It was Lucius' understanding that McGonagall had made it clear the civilians would not be trained with the students, nor would they be allowed to disrupt the school system.

The last minutes ran down, and they ceased their attack. Despite the teens' brilliant strategy, they did not have the magic left to maintain the shields. The marbles had begun to puncture the faltering protections. At the ceasefire, several teens collapsed in abject relief that it was all finally over. Lucius chuckled under his breath as he made his way toward Andromeda.

"You're bunking here tonight!" Auror Blackwood informed the teens. They had agreed it would be best if the students stayed so they could be monitored to make sure none were at risk of serious injury or illness. "Find a spot and stay there. We'll come around with food. A bedroll will be provided by the room."

"A few of them are already out," Andromeda said to her Weasley partner, Arthur's second son. A fond smile softened her features, which made the cold-eyed witch disappear under the image of a mother. She looked remarkably like a slightly shorter, plumper Narcissa, if Narcissa had dark brown hair instead of blonde. "Poor babies."

"What do they want?" Lucius flicked his eyes in the direction of the men still standing next to the door.

Andromeda's eyes cut his way. "They wanted to discuss possible night training for those who work during the day," she answered.

Lucius turned to see Potter approaching, feet dragging in his exhaustion. Weasley moved across the room toward him as the little Light Lord fumbled at his wrist, trying to remove the suppressor. All the students were on the floor, the other instructors were crouched among them. Potter and Weasley were the only two standing.

The men at the door moved. Their wands snapped up. A barrage of full-powered spells streaked like lightning through the air.

Time slowed as Lucius reacted. He yelled a spell to shove the two out of the way, his Master's command to protect Potter resonating through his mind. He watched as Potter lifted one hand to shield, but Lucius saw that the cuff was still on. The boy was exhausted from training. It was a futile gesture. Potter's other hand shoved Weasley hard in the chest.

Weasley's arms wind-milled as he tried to catch his balance. Lucius' Propulsion Charm caught him and he went down, sliding across the room, but not before the attack clipped him. The young man's blood created a red fan in the air as his arm was sliced in three places. Potter, farther away than Weasley, took the full brunt of the attack that was barely softened by his pathetic shield.

Lucius watched in horror as half the boy's chest shredded and disappeared in a thick spray of blood. The Propulsion Charm finally reached him, too late, and he was flung backward into the horrorstruck group of students. His body came to a stop mere feet from Potter's constant companion, the youngest male Weasley. Time returned to normal.

Draco and Aiden exploded into action, lunging across the room at the assassins. Severus skid to a stop on his knees next to Potter's ragdoll body, potions already in his hands. Andromeda sprinted forward, her wand ready to cast healing charms. A few shaky students crawled forward to help the elder Weasley, who was admirably trying to stop his own heavy bleeding. Blackwood dropped to her knees by Potter, assisting Andromeda's spell work. Even from across the room Lucius could hear the squelch as her knees hit the bloody ground. Her partner ran past the prisoners and out the door, assumedly to get help.

Lucius couldn't tear his eyes away from Potter's horrific injury. It looked like some huge beast had taken a bite out of Potter's torso. His right ribs were mostly gone and, with them, at least three-fourths of the lung. His right arm was nearly severed at the bicep, barely an inch of tissue and skin connecting the two pieces. Blood was pooling around the teen's body.

Suddenly Draco was at his side. His son made a soft keening sound, nearly inaudible, but the pain of it cut straight through Lucius. "The suppressor," Draco rasped. "Take it off _now!"_

Severus, out of potions, obeyed Draco's command. He had to do it very carefully, or he'd likely pull the arm completely off.

Magic instantly pulsed through the room, hot feverish heat. Potter convulsed weakly, gurgled, wheezed, and went limp. And then the Dark Mark began to _burn_ into Lucius' flesh. Piercing pain that he knew intimately, filling him with his Master's unforgiving rage. Potter was his Lord's. Potter could not be allowed to die.

But Lucius could do nothing. The Dark did not heal. That was why so many Dark wizards were so apt at potions. They were often the only means they had to heal themselves. Lucius closed his eyes briefly in prayer. Should Potter die, every Death Eater in the room would die with him for failing to prevent the attack. Once again, he found himself grateful Draco was not marked.

Pomfrey arrived with the Auror trailing after her just as Potter's blazing magic flickered and began to fade. The wet, wheezing breaths ceased. Draco screamed, the younger Weasley echoing the anguished cry. Lucius grabbed his son, keeping him from running forward and getting in the way. He saw Longbottom do the same to the redhead. Severus had the wits to scramble back without prompting as Pomfrey began to bark orders at Andromeda and Blackwood. They scrambled to comply, but it was clear they were out of their depth.

Blackwood's partner gathered the students to the opposite wall where they watched everything through dull, exhausted eyes. Severus noticed Longbottom's situation and helped guide Weasley over to where Lucius and Draco stood near the center of the room, which was morphing and changing into a surgery.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when the door to the room opened once more. Lucius had his wand aimed without conscious thought, but in the next instant he dropped to his knees, pulling Draco down with him. Aiden lowered his head, but he didn't kneel. He maintained his position guarding the prisoners, wand poised to strike should any make a threatening move.

The Dark Lord paused only briefly at the frantic activity surrounding Potter. Two witches in Healer green edged around him and hurried over to assist, but Lucius only had eyes for his Master. The Dark Lord strode over to Aiden, his blood-red eyes blazing hungrily at the would-be assassins.

"Report," his Master snapped in a near whisper. His magic was ever so carefully contained so as not to disrupt the heroic efforts of the Healers not twenty-five meters from him.

"These arrived at the end of the training session and attempted to assassinate Lord Potter," Aiden answered, holding their Lord's furious gaze.

Lucius winced as the solid man flinched and slowly sank to his knees, his face paling dramatically. He'd obviously suffered a brutal Legilimency probe.

"Lucius," his name was hissed out.

He rose and quickly moved to his Master's side. He gave a half-bow. "My Lord."

Red eyes pierced into his soul, reminding Lucius of the eternity of torment waiting for him at his Lord's pleasure. "Why did you allow these worms to strike?"

"I failed to anticipate the danger," Lucius answered honestly. His instincts had warned him, but he hadn't listened.

"Monster!" One of the killers stupidly cried out. His face was beat-red, twisted with hate and terror. "Demon! We won't let you take over our world! We'll stop you and your minion, Potter!"

Lucius closed his eyes. Fanatics. Imbeciles. They wanted to destroy the Dark Lord by murdering the only one to ever defeat him? Lucius opened his eyes again as a high-pitched scream of agony cut through the air. A cold smile stretched his mouth at the sight of the fool spokesmen lying curled on the ground, his tongue lying a foot from his face. Such casual brutality was a mere teaser of what his Master had planned. Despite being in the position of victim more than his fair share, it was still beautiful to him. No matter how many times it burned him, he was Dark, called and owned by the sleek primal force.

"Lord Voldemort, desist, please."

Lucius turned his attention to the Headmistress as she bravely, _stupidly_, inserted herself between a predator and his rightful prey. Her hair was pulled up into a severe bun and she wore the vividly red Order robes, indicating she was here speaking as the Phoenix Second and not the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Her chin was thrust up slightly, displaying pride. As if any of that would protect her. Lucius watched both her and his Master avidly, pleased with his front-row seat to this confrontation.

"It is my duty to protect my ally, Second McGonagall," Lord Voldemort told her coldly. He stood tall, nearly six and a half feet tall. His robes were more than simply black, his lean form was cloaked in tangible shadows. His hard angular features merely emphasized his exotic eyes and sharpened teeth.

McGonagall didn't seem fazed by her impressive opponent. Her voice remained cool and clipped. "The deed is done. This is not an act of protection. And if it were, the Minister has equal rights to the offenders as he swore the same oath."

"The Minister is not here," the Dark Lord responded with a gentle smile, tone nearly playful. Lucius winced. Such a tone always heralded an act of vicious temper. "And I assure you, my actions will indeed protect Lord Potter. These will be the example. I will turn them into an effective deterrent for any such future actions."

The old witch did not know when to quit, although her next words took Lucius by surprise.

McGonagall offered her own small smile, eyes glinting behind her half-moon glasses. "I fully approve such a strategy. However, you presiding as executioner of this plan will negate the effect. It will fuel the fanatics by confirming that Lord Potter is in league with you whereas the Minister doling out justice will cast doubt on the righteousness of their mission."

The Dark Lord regarded her silently. Let it not be said his Master was incapable of appreciating sound strategy when he heard it. "Very well, Minerva, but I require an even cut of the spoils. I want the one I've already corrected." A long-finger hand swept over the tongue-less fanatic sobbing at their feet. "The others I relinquish to the Ministry. If I am not satisfied by the severity or publicity of their punishment, I will make my own position clear."

McGonagall inclined her head regally, likely recognizing she could not stop the Dark Lord from simply doing as he wished without her approval.

"You will keep me abreast of Lord Potter's condition," his Master ordered, eyes pinned to her's.

"I will," she promised evenly, not blinking or avoiding that deadly gaze.

"Malfoy, gather our new guest. Avery, with me." The Dark Lord glanced once more to where the others still struggled to keep Potter alive before he swept from the room.

Lucius followed, towing the unfortunate prisoner. Aiden took up the rear, still slightly unsteady on his feet. As they left Hogwarts, Lucius wondered if he'd ever see the castle or his son again. The memory of Draco fulfilling his potential still shimmered behind his eyes. He'd seen all he needed to die satisfied, and perhaps his Master would let him enjoy the show of the assassin's death before Lucius' own, should Potter die.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N:** Remember, please review to let me know there is still interest in this story despite the long delay! Thanks!


	24. Interlude

**Interlude**

_Peace… _

_A blank canvas of thought slowly blooming with color._

_Flowers; so many the same. So many without purpose._

_Mountains. Heavy are the mountains._

_Rain. Dark shadows hanging above me._

_The sun. One, only one._

_Sea. Blue sea. _

_What your eyes can't see. _

_What your eyes can see._

_Sky; sky of red. _

_Red the color. _

_The color I hate._

_The liquid flows. That drips, ripples, and pours._

**xXxXxXx**

Ron sat beside the hospital bed with his elbows braced on his knees. Last night was still a blur in his mind. He'd finally slept around midmorning, the healers still working frantically over Harry. When he'd woken, he'd been told their fragile patient could only have one visitor at a time. So now it was currently his turn to sit helplessly by Harry's bedside and try to will him back to life.

The room was perfectly silent. Not even the sound of breathing interrupted the stillness. It was as if Harry were already dead. It didn't comfort him to think that his own inhalations couldn't be heard. He was a coward. He still feared to look, feared to see his best friend had passed on in that moment he wasn't watching. So he sat with his head hanging limply, his eyes on the clean white tile. He was exhausted. He was lost and alone. Mostly, he was sick of the damned war. None of this bullshit was worth it. All this pain and suffering and blood. For what? _For what?_

For Harry? For him to constantly be beaten down? To end up in a hospital bed a little more broken each time?

For Hermione to have her sanity stripped away?

For Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore, people he knew and respected to keep dying?

Nothing was worth feeling this way. Gutted and empty. Despair had no taste or color, but it had an inescapable weight. It smothered. It pressed in on you until you don't have the energy to stand, or speak, or live.

The silence was broken by the door opening and shutting. He followed the sound of soft footsteps, but he didn't have the energy to lift his head. A small hand settled on his shoulder, and something, _something,_ made him tilt his head enough to look up.

Hermione stood beside him. Her face was thinner, her eyes rimmed in dark circles but she looked down at him steadily. It was _her_. She was back.

Ron was on his feet and hugging her to his chest in an instant, his breath coming harsh and heavy, nearly sobbing with relief and grief both. She clung to him back, but she didn't make a sound. With a shock, Ron realized her hair was cut extremely short, a cap of wavy curls close to her scalp. It was soft as feather down against his cheek and neck. But she smelled the same, felt the same in his arms.

"How are you?" he asked in a hoarse croak.

"Getting better. They let me come see him," she answered softly.

There was something off about her tone, and he pulled away to look at her face. She was pale. There was tension around her eyes that were clearly trying to see through him. He turned, maneuvered so that they were both turned sideways and could see the hospital bed and the comatose patient it held.

Harry lay as if sleeping, but his skin was bleached white and his still misshapen chest hardly moved with his too slow breaths. There was what looked like a water bubble over his nose and mouth, producing pure oxygen. The Healers could also pour potions into that bubble, and they would be turned into gas so Harry could inhale them. It was safer that way. The air literally shimmered from all the spells keeping him alive, and additional spells might collapse the whole fragile net.

"They say it's a miracle he's lasted this long," Hermione spoke in the same off tone as before. "They let me come to say my goodbyes. They don't think he's going to make it."

"He'll make it," Ron snarled, wanting to shake her. "He always makes it."

Hermione nodded. "I…" Her voice cracked and emotion broke through at last. Her hands clenched in his shirt as she pressed her face against his chest. "I'm not ready to say goodbye. Something was wrong with him, and I have so many things I want to ask him. He owes me an explanation! He can't just leave me here without one!" she yelled and burst into tears.

Ron had no idea what she was talking about, but he held her tight as he guided her to the door. They stepped into what had been turned into a waiting room. There were couches and coffee tables. Biscuits and sandwiches, coffee and tea, were always available. A woman in Healer robes sat on one couch reading a magazine. She looked up at him, but he ignored her, realizing she must be Hermione's keeper. He pulled Hermione to the single window, glaring at the witch until she got the hint and left them alone.

He rocked Hermione until her sobs tapered off. "Look. He's not alone. _You're _not alone." There on the lawn of the school were dozens of people standing in the night. Their candles were like stars in the darkness.

Hermione sniffled and rubbed at her eyes as she stared out onto the scene. "How long do you think they'll stay out there?"

"Don't know," Ron answered tiredly. "As long as they can."

She said nothing to that, just stood silent and still, but at least she didn't pull away or protest against his arms around her. Ron closed his eyes and wished for so many things.

**xXxXxXx**

_Blood. The scent of blood. _

_In the red soil, the humans come. _

_What are humans? Are they creations of God? _

_Humans that which is created by human, man and woman._

_Who am I? What am I?_

**xXxXxXx**

Severus slipped into the sterile room, eyes immediately going to the tray at the foot of the hospital bed. Half a dozen potions sat there ready for administration. He moved closer, analyzing the color and faint scents. Two were very potent. One opened blood capillaries to increase the efficiency of the blood to deliver oxygen to the body, while the other exponentially increased the bone marrow's production of blood cells. Then there were pain relievers, and another to induce a healing coma.

The coma was necessary, Severus knew, to protect the patient's brain. The brain deteriorates rapidly without optimum oxygen. To prevent brain damage from occurring, the coma slows down the brain's processes, which in turn lowers the amount of oxygen it needs to function. So he knew Harry was alive. That he had everything he needed to heal and recover. All this knowledge and still Severus felt kicked in the gut as he turned his attention to the teenager in the bed.

Harry looked so small, so fragile. He hardly looked to be breathing at all. Despite it being two days since the attack, the left side of his chest was still caved in. It was grotesque. The shimmering spells all around him increased bone growth, soft tissue development, nerves, veins, muscle. All had to be restored. It was an impossible feat. But Harry was not dead, yet.

Nor, Severus thought darkly, was he alive.

He moved to the chair and sat. He stared intently at the pale face of a friend he never thought he'd have. There was no life there, no expression. Emotions cut chaotically through him. Some of the emotions were his own; the others were the lingering traces of the future self he'd replaced. The strongest of these was guilt.

Guilt.

Severus wasn't very familiar with guilt. And it was irrational. There was nothing he could have done to prevent the assassination attempt. He couldn't stop the public from believing the tripe printed in the news papers. Knowing this didn't stop the sense of failure that nearly overwhelmed him at times. The image of all that blood, of hearing Harry's agonized gasps, still haunted him.

Closing his eyes, Severus forced his heart to slow and pushed the emotions away. Now wasn't the time to indulge them. Opening his eyes again, he cleared his throat and shook out the paper he'd brought in with him. "I thought you'd be amused by the trash they're printing now," he said with dark humor. If this didn't make Harry want to return just so he could kick sense into the stupid masses, Severus didn't know what would. He began to read in a snide tone:

**Dark Lord Behind Potter Puppet?**

_This Saturday last, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and recently ascended Light Lord, had been the target of an assassination attempt. Today, the Minster, along with the full Wizengamot, presided over perhaps the shortest trial in history. Charles Paget, Mason Hurley, Edwin Bizbin, and Leon Wickem all pled guilty. When asked to state their reasons, they declared themselves soldiers of Justice in a fight against the Dark. They claimed due to the Dark Lord's failure to conquer Britain directly, he was now waging a more subtle war where he would gain control little by little with the help of his Puppet Potter. They further claimed the real Potter had long ago been killed off, and the current Potter is a homunculus of incredible power. The Minister and the Wizengamot were unmoved and announced the assassins would be given the Dementor's Kiss. For the first time, this sentence will be carried out publicly. The event is scheduled for tomorrow, Tuesday, January 31__st__ 1997, at dawn in Hogsmeade. _

"Wonder where they got the Dementors," Severus snarked. "I recall reading an article dated this summer that they went rogue and were on a rampage all throughout Britain. Suppose the Dark Lord rounded some up just for the occasion. Also, there were _five_ men who attacked you. McGonagall let the Dark Lord take one away that night without a trial even. Not that he deserved a trial, but I was surprised she would allow such a thing. They don't mention him in the papers, so I assume the Ministry is also allowing it."

He shook his head slowly, brows furrowed over his eyes. "My research has revealed he is capable of terrible things, so you can't go, Harry. Without you to check him, who knows what the Dark Lord will do. It can't be your time yet. You're still so desperately needed by everyone." His fists clenched and his throat burned, but the "_by me"_ remained unspoken. He'd had allies before, political associates who were companions by necessity. Even Lucius, the closest thing he'd had to a friend, had built their relationship around mutual benefit.

Not Harry. Harry was something other, different. He'd saved Severus from the Ministry, never asking anything in return. He'd offered to help even after Severus had attacked him in the shack and later attacked his mind. Harry had fully admitted to having some connection with his future self, but he hadn't held onto that. He had acknowledged Severus was not that man and seemed to still enjoy Severus' company and desire his advice.

Severus still had no idea how to handle such a relationship. He'd made so many mistakes. He'd pushed the issue of Harry's eating habits and clumsily pressed into Harry's past, embarrassing them both. But despite the fear, confusion, and frustration, he didn't want to lose what the other teen offered.

Harry had crashed into his already bizarre life like a burning meteor. Without him, Severus was afraid he'd lose all sense of direction once again. Harry Potter had become a touchstone in his world, a central figure to orbit around. The thought of Harry dying sent him dangerously close to the edge of a panic attack, and he didn't know what to do about any of it.

Helplessness didn't sit well with him. Since childhood when he'd cowered at his father's feet, helpless to protect himself. Since he'd sat by his ill mother's bedside, helpless to make her better. Since he'd been a target all through his school years, helpless to stop the torment. He'd sworn never to be helpless again, that's why he'd gone with Lucius to be Marked. Now he was unMarked, in an impossible future, and helpless still.

Severus stood abruptly. No. He wasn't some pathetic weakling. He wasn't going to sit here and piss and moan his fate. There were things he could do to help Harry, and he would see them done. Clearly someone had to monitor public opinion, to prevent something like this from happening again. Severus stared down at the teen lying still as death in bed.

He reached out and took a cold, limp hand in his own. "You will never be here again," he vowed. He held tight for a long moment, and then he turned and strode from the room, plans and strategies spinning through his mind.

**xXxXxXx**

_What am I?_

_I am I. _

_This is the self that can be seen. _

_This is that which is mine, my heart, my mind._

_And yet this is not like that which is myself._

_A strange feeling. My body melting. _

_My form, my shape, fades from view._

_Am I merely a vessel?_

**xXxXxXx**

Voldemort strode into the room with a triumphant smile. Early morning light softened the harsh scene, but he had no care for such things. Watching the Dementor's work was awe inspiring. The beautiful creature had moved inexorably down the line, Kissing one after another of the pathetic worms who'd dared attack what was his. They'd fallen like dolls, empty. It was a gorgeous irony, becoming what they'd accused Potter of being.

"But unlike them, you will not fall into nothingness and death," he hissed, blood red eyes burning. "You will live, my little Horcrux, because I have not given you leave to die."

Very careful of the spells cocooning the boy, he extended his hand and placed his palm against his mark of ownership.

The lightning bolt scar seemed to warm to his touch, and Voldemort smiled thinly. Closing his eyes, he searched for what was his. It was there, fading. He shaped his will and pressed his energy forward. His Horcrux absorbed it slowly. Voldemort pressed until the flickering pulse became steady.

When he pulled back, he felt light-headed and weak. His hands came up to steady him, and he pressed them to the thin mattress on either side of the boy's head. Voldemort leaned down until they were mere inches apart. "You will pay for this," he promised in a deadly hiss. "I will not tolerate such _weakness_ from you."

He straightened just as the door opened and a useless healer stepped in. Without a word, he turned and stalked from the room, leaving his Horcrux in their hands for now.

**xXxXxXx**

_Awareness dawns _

_of someone who is not me. _

_Who is there beyond me here?_

_Who are you?_

_A voice. A command._

**~ KNOW ~**

_Memories of crawling on the dirt. _

_Everyday a battle for survival, _

_darkness and ignorance, _

_until the Gifts from the eternal Fire. _

_Understanding_

_Imagination_

_Creativity_

**xXxXxXx**

Draco slipped into the room on silent feet. It had taken a week of polite argument and maneuvering to attain this hour. After the assassination attempt, only Harry's closest allies and friends were allowed entrance. Draco had insisted he be allowed and even subjected himself to an interrogation involving Veritaserum.

There was improvement, he'd been told, but as he stepped up to Harry's side, he felt his pulse speed up. Even when Harry had gone down in a lake of blood, he hadn't look so… faded, small.

Draco's world began to crack all around him. He'd seen Harry as superhuman. His lover. His everything. Despite his rage and hurt, he wanted to be burned by Harry again. Needed it because he'd lost sense of anything else. And, yeah, he'd pinned Harry to a wall, taken what he'd needed the way Harry had taught him. He'd made Harry cry, but even then Draco was still under his callous grip of absolute power, consumed by revenge and lust centered around Harry Potter. Harry would always have that power over him. Always be powerful. But now… This proved he was as human and weak as everyone else.

It was surreal as hell. This was the boy with the burning eyes that had Draco on his knees. This was the boy who had seduced him and led him through the most intense experiences of his life. Who had owned him no matter Draco's pitiful denials. Harry had possessed him body and mind. This creature, lying here in this bed – dying, helpless. This wasn't the same person. Couldn't be. It was impossible!

But here Harry was. This fallible teenager was the truth.

Something began to shift in Draco's mind. He felt the months peel away enough that he could just barely glimpse the boy he'd been before Harry had taken him, tainted him.

"Why?" Draco rasped. Both hands grabbed at the edge of the bed, tears falling onto Harry's limp arm. "Why did you do this to me?" But Harry didn't have all the answers anymore. Draco was truly alone and it was terrible, but he knew it had to be this way if he wanted to be truly free.

But even as he finally saw how broken he'd become, he still wanted Harry to wake up and possess him again. Because it was familiar and what he faced wasn't. Because he was terrified of the future, of himself, of this gaping emptiness inside him. Rage quickly followed the grief, for what he'd become and what he'd lost. He still didn't want to admit he'd been abused. That he'd allowed it. That he'd been so disgustingly weak and had believed in love, of all things.

Panting, Draco straightened. He couldn't stop shaking in fury. His fists clenched. He imagined ripping through the complex web of spells, ripping Harry from his toe hold on life. It wouldn't make much difference. He already looked like a corpse. Draco reached forward, magic poised, but…

He couldn't. He couldn't kill him. _Harry._ Good or bad, the boy was a part of him now, always would be. And Draco didn't want him gone completely. He wasn't ready for that. It wasn't over between them. Harry owed him much, and Draco was going to collect.

Stumbling, he turned from the bed and staggered to the door. Blaise caught him as he almost fell, and Draco shuddered in his grasp. "Let's go," his friend said gently.

He nodded and pushed Blaise off. "Let's," he answered coldly, pulling his mask firmly back in place.

He was willing now to concede that things had changed, that _he_ had changed, and not everything was as he'd thought, but he was still a Slytherin and a Malfoy. That hadn't been taken from him. Those two facts he could still rely on, and it would have to be enough to get him through until he found his footing once more.

**xXxXxXx**

_Civilization. A Golden Age _

_of art and knowledge and magic_

_until the Gifts are neglected by man. _

_Watching as the world grows colder, darker;_

_a sadness I can hardly bear. _

__**REMEMBER**__

_So much. _

_So much knowledge._

_The language of the Light,_

_so complex and beautiful._

_A language of ritual and symbol_

_that keep the Circle flowing._

_I remember, I become._

**xXxXxXx**

Minerva set the vase of flowers on the nightstand by Harry's bed. She adjusted them a moment, her hand stiff and jerky, before moving to the empty chair. She felt almost dizzy with exhaustion. The Muggle invaders were back.

They'd attacked a magical town in Ireland. Aurors, Death Eaters, and the Lux had fought side by side, killing as many as they could while protecting civilians, but they hadn't walked away unhurt. There had been four casualties. Two Aurors, one Lux, and one Death Eater. Of course the civilians had suffered even heavier losses. Forty-seven dead, last she heard. Forty-seven. But it would have been worse if it hadn't been for Harry's strategies, the training he'd implemented.

"You were right, Harry. About everything. I don't know how you knew what to do, but there it is. The Order has voted. You are now Phoenix Leader in full. The probation is over."

_However,_ she thought but did not add aloud. _Things are going to change._

Yes, he'd been appointed Phoenix Leader. Yes, he was necessary to maintain balance in these precarious times. But she'd told herself that she wouldn't be complicit in stripping him from his humanity. She had promised herself she would remember he was also a teenage boy. Harry was so young. He'd suffered so much, but she knew that he also had joy and friends. Unfortunately, she now realized there had hardly been enough of either in Harry's life lately.

She wasn't unaware of the fracturing of his friendships. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger weren't exactly discrete when they talked about their friend. Clearly, she was failing in her duty, both as Harry's Headmistress and as his Second. Clearly, he needed more free time, more laughter. He needed more opportunities to connect to his peers and receive the comfort and support every human being needed, especially children.

"That will change," she vowed to the boy who'd become her leader.

Her arm gave a vicious twinge, and she cradled it gently in her lap from a bullet wound that was still healing. At least the arguments over the Triad Alliance, the suspicions of Harry's true loyalty, had all been temporarily silenced by this attack. Reality was such that it didn't matter. It didn't matter Harry's alliances. It didn't matter that Death Eaters would be instrumental in their defense. All that mattered now was survival.

She gently brushed his bangs from his sunken eyes and leaned back, exhaustion sweeping across her mind and body. The fighting had lasted nearly half a day. Then she'd had to take care of clean up and reconstruction. She hadn't seen her bed in close to forty-eight hours. She would just close her eyes. Just for a minute. Then she'd go and deal with everything else she had to take care of.

**xXxXxXx**

_Light pours in returning_

_tenfold until I soar._

_Fulfilled, perfection, whole. _

_Ecstasy. _

_Rapture._

**~ CHILD ~**

**~ GO ~**

_Propelled by wings of celestial Light._

_Painfully torn from perfect Glory._

_I awake to the world._

**xXxXxXx**

Harry opened his eyes. It hurt. _God,_ it hurt. He could hardly breathe through the pain. His eyes blurred. His fists clenched. Nothing existed outside his agonized body. He wanted to go back. Back to the Light and peace. Of beauty and knowledge. Everything hurt. Hands pressed down on him. Magic seethed around him in a tight embrace. Everything was so fractured here.

No more.

He just couldn't do this again.

He didn't want to live! He was done. He'd tried. He'd done his part. He didn't have any more to give, damn it!

Someone was screaming. A torn breathless sound of torment that made him nauseous with sympathy. _Shut up! _

Why couldn't they leave him alone? _No, please!_ He couldn't do this. He didn't want to. _Let me go!_

Flashbacks of sweltering heat, rage, desperate need. Severus's cool voice, soothing and remote. Pure hate, and pain, and devastation. He couldn't do it. Couldn't go back there. Not again. Never._ Please, stop it!_

Then there was cool slicking through his veins. Darkness. Familiar and comforting. Harry embraced it with a sobbing gasp and sunk down deep, away from everything.

**xXxXxXx**

"He's crashing!"

"Clear the bed!"

"Together on the count of three!"

"Harry! Don't do this. HARRY!"

**xXxXxXx**

_He sits alone here, in the dark. Curled tight in a protective ball, he yells out, demanding, "Why do I have to keep fighting after everything that's happened? I don't want to feel like this anymore! I'm done!"_

_There is no answer. He is alone._

"_Say something. Answer me!"_

_A spotlight nearly blinds him, and he gasps, looking up at Ron, who asks, "Why do you fight?"_

_He answers with a frown. "Because everyone needs me to."_

_Behind him, another spotlight, and he twists around to see Hermione. She asks, "Is that the only reason?"_

"_What do you mean? It's for the sake of the world. Isn't that good enough?"_

_Luna appears next to him, crouching down. "So you fight for the sake of others?"_

"_That's right," he yells, defiant. "Is there something wrong with that? I'm doing the right thing!"_

_Suddenly, adult Severus is there. He pulls him up to his feet and practically snarls in his face. "You're lying! You know damn well you do this for yourself. You're just making up excuses like you always do."_

"_I do?"_

_Deep dark eyes glitter back at him in disgust. "Pretending you're sacrificing yourself is just another cop out. It makes you feel so special to play the martyr."_

"_No," he protests, but he's sweating. His voice shakes. "That's not true."_

_Severus grows young before his eyes, and in moments it is a teenager looking back at him. Harry's stomach flutters as that deep voice softens and warms. "You feel worthless and isolated. That's why you fight. So that you don't feel like that anymore."_

"_No," he denies weakly._

"_You live on sympathy, and you get it by fighting." Severus's words whisper over his face, his lips. It smells like toffee. "You love having others depend on you."_

_He has no answer for that one. He does like being dependable. He likes being needed. And yet, he doesn't. He doesn't like it at all sometimes. Why is everything so confusing? _

_Severus drops him and disappears._

_He falls to his knees. He tries to get up, tries to go after him. He doesn't want to be alone here, in the dark. He'd thought he wanted it, but he doesn't. He doesn't! "Severus!"_

_But Severus is already gone. Gone, and Harry is alone. His heart thunders in his chest._

"_If you want real happiness, you have to find it for yourself." He looks up at Sirius who stands there with a loving little grin. "Not wait here for someone to give it to you."_

_Tears fill his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."_

**xXxXxXx**

"We got him back," the Healer Monroe said shakily, a smile on her face.

Severus nodded sharply. He was shaking. He could still hear his desperate scream ringing in his ears. But Harry was back. He wasn't dead yet. A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away, eyes wide. The healer smiled with false understanding. She didn't understand anything about him or Harry.

"He needs rest. You can come visit him again later."

Severus let her guide him out of the room. He looked back once over his shoulder, his hair swinging and brushing his cheek. Harry was still, head slightly tilted toward him. Severus' heart raced in his chest. He didn't want to leave, but the door swung shut, blocking Harry from view. In the waiting room, Weasley and Granger sat on the couch, clinging to each other, pale as ghosts. They must have heard the commotion.

"He's still alive. They brought him back," he felt obligated to inform them.

"Thank, Merlin," Weasley groaned and pressed his face into the girl's hair.

Granger stared at him almost blankly, and it made him intensely uncomfortable. Severus looked away and straightened his robes before striding out of the waiting room.

**Chapter end.**

**A/N: **Harry's POVs were heavily inspired by the anime Evangelion series episodes 14 and 25. I hope this was a good chapter. I'm not very gifted with poetry and I wanted this to be really special.


	25. Returning

**Returning**

A silhouette moved through the trees of the forest as just another shadow. Only the faintest rustle of leaves sounded as the man passed under the massive oaks. The light of the waxing moon gradually grew brighter as the edge of the forest drew nearer. He stopped just inside the tree line. His sharp eyes traced the hills of the land stretching in front of him and were drawn inevitably to the majestic castle only a short distance away.

Candle light beckoned from the many windows, but he was not fooled by the welcoming sight. The fortress could become a prison faster than the blink of an eye. So much history here in this place; it loomed heavy, weighing him down. There was no choice, however. His child lay beyond those walls. He was not leaving again without him. Without further hesitation, he moved forward. He walked a path he'd walked a hundred times, but he was not that man. He'd become more – and less – than he once was, so it felt as if he were walking it for the first time.

The biggest difference, he suspected, was his lack of fear. He no longer cared how these people would receive him. He no longer worried about the danger he possibly presented to those weaker than himself. He'd finally made peace with who he was and with that peace had come a new resolve. He would no longer limit himself or deny himself for the sake of others. If they felt threatened, then it was their responsibility to protect themselves, not his. He was only obligated to protect his own.

The new Headmistress stood in the entrance hall. Her regal blue robes draped elegantly over her ruler-straight posture. Sharp hazel eyes caught his own, a steely threat clear in their depths. Her wand was in her hand but not yet raised. He supposed that was the best greeting he could expect when he'd arrived unannounced.

"Minerva," he greeted, his voice quiet and hoarse. He very deliberately made no threatening moves. Not yet. Not until he got what he came for. He couldn't allow them a chance to deny him access to the child he'd vowed to protect.

Her brow furrowed in clear confusion. "Who…?"

He flashed a grin that would have been right at home on Sirius. The thought of his pack-mate still brought pain, but it no longer debilitated him. He wouldn't allow it. Not when he still had things to protect. "Has it really been so long? It feels like yesterday that we were arguing with the old crowd about the next great adventure."

"Remus?" she gasped. Her wand lowered as her shock scented the air. "Remus Lupin?"

"I was born with that name, yes." His grin melted, revealing an intent expression he didn't try to mask. "I came to see him."

"What happened to you?" she demanded, not moving from her position.

"I did some soul searching," Remus answered truthfully. "I decided to stop fighting who I am. It was exhausting and futile. It earned me nothing but grief and loss."

"By Merlin…" She raked him with her eyes, feet to head.

"Minerva," he said again, warning and request all in one. "I want to see him."

She stared a moment longer before slowly inclining her head. "Very well. Do you know what happened?"

"Just what's in the papers," he answered, following her closely. He didn't mention the shocking letter his cub had sent him utilizing Dark magic. No one ever need know about that.

"They are fairly accurate this time," she admitted with a sigh. "Times are precarious. The people are not coping well with these devastating Muggle attacks."

Remus didn't care about that. He no longer cared about anything he couldn't control. All that mattered was what he claimed as his. He would do all in his power to ensure everything of his was protected. Especially his cub. "How is he?"

"It's been touch and go for a long time." Minerva's pace slowed, her thoughts drawn inward. "We've had a few scares, but he's pulled through. He's stable now. He even regained consciousness briefly two days ago. The healers expect him to wake up again any time now."

"Will he make a full recovery?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. I don't expect so, but Harry has done impossible things before."

Remus kept the dangerous growl that wanted to escape his throat tightly in check. Now was not the time to draw suspicion his way.

He could smell the Infirmary long before they reached the correct corridor. The scent of medications, potions, and magic stung his nose. Under that, though, he could scent pain and weakness, fear and despair. Some of it was residue left by those who'd sat vigil, but most was from Harry.

Once, when his friends had needed him, he'd run, unable to face the persecution and self-hatred. They had just graduated and the war was in full swing. The werewolves had sided with the Dark Lord, and even the Order members had watched him warily, convinced he'd turn on them at any time. Half his pack had been wiped out in his absence, leaving only one sibling and cub behind. But he'd believed the lies about Sirius' betrayal, which had left him with only a cub that he was forbidden to see or raise.

Not that Remus had fought very hard to keep Harry. He'd been so afraid of himself back then, afraid of what he'd do to an innocent child. He'd fallen into grief, consumed with his loss. He never even tried to imagine what Harry's life would be like without anyone there who loved him.

When he'd finally looked beyond himself and returned, Harry had been a teenager who didn't trust easily. Remus had almost been too late to bridge that gap between them. And then Sirius had come back into both their lives. It had been overwhelming. Remus' grief and self-hatred had sunk deeper as he realized just how badly he'd failed his pack-mate. Before he could really get a handle on anything, Sirius had died, gone for good this time, and the agony had been more than he could bear.

He'd planned to run away _again_. He'd gone to see Harry last summer to say goodbye and apologize for all the wrongs he'd done him, but his cub had stripped Remus bare with his tongue. He'd accused him justly of weakness, selfishness, and cowardice. Remus had come face to face with himself that day. He realized it wasn't the wolf half that deserved hatred. It was his human half. He'd been running for all the wrong reasons.

Remus would have killed himself after their conversation. All his life was a sham, an utter waste, all his family gone. Then Harry had charged him to finally conquer himself and to come back useful for once.

He'd done exactly that, but again he returned nearly too late. Harry had been suffering here, bearing everything put on his shoulders alone. He'd almost _died_. Struck down like an animal to be put down. Because of politics and human fear. Remus would not allow it. He would not lose the last of his pack. He would not fail at the most important task James, Sirius, and Lily had entrusted him with.

The door swung open and instantly his eyes fastened on the teen lying limp in the bed. Minerva was saying something, but he had no idea what. All his attention was on his cub. The smell here was stronger. His mouth fell open as he struggled to breathe. The air was thick, heavy with sickness and pain. His cub… If he'd been in wolf form, his hackles would have raised. He walked stiffly forward until he could touch the cool, pale skin of Harry's arm.

"I'm here," he rasped. Remus bent down and pressed his nose into the teen's hair above his ear. The scent of pack, the feeling of home, assailed his senses. "Harry, I'm here, cub. You're safe now."

Thick black lashes fluttered. Remus tensed, eyes wide and unblinking, willing his cub to wake. Harry's head rolled toward him, his expression creasing in pain. It killed Remus to see it, to smell it. He wanted to press all the pain out of the teen and make sure he never felt like this again. He stroked a hand through the boy's greasy hair and murmured reassuringly into the teen's ear. A flash of green, gone and slowly back again. Harry's pupils were large and contracted lazily, indicating he was drugged.

"Moo…"

"I'm here, Harry, and I'm not leaving again unless I can help it," Remus assured him. He raked his cheek along Harry's. "I got your letter. Of course I don't hate you. I'm perfectly fine."

"Moony…" Harry got the word out this time. He sounded dazed and confused.

Remus growled. The urge to tear someone limb from limb was strong, but he couldn't leave Harry's side, not when he was so vulnerable. He sensed Minerva's approach and whipped around, teeth bared in a low snarl. He didn't feel any regret when she froze, fear coming off her in waves. All he cared about was that she stopped coming closer and that her wand didn't rise.

"Remus!" she scolded.

He glared her into silence, unmasking the wolf lurking behind his gaze. He was a predator, always had been. Nothing could change that. Instead, he was going to utilize it. Her shocked expression became shuttered, closing off into a blank mask.

"Moony… sorry… sorry, Moony…" Harry babbled weakly.

The tang of salt hit the air, and Remus spun to nuzzle his cub's cheek, erasing his tears. "Hush, Harry. It's okay. I love you. You're going to be just fine."

Harry continued to cry weakly until he fell back into sleep.

Two healers entered the room behind Minerva. Remus wanted to bite them and snatch Harry away to a dark, hidden place to recover. He forced those instincts down. He understood that Harry's condition was fragile and dependant on the medical attention of these people. He stepped back, but kept within striking distance of the strangers as they ran their checks and cast him side-long glances. Minerva didn't suggest he leave as they worked, smart woman. When the healers finished, Minerva asked to speak to them. They left reluctantly, following her to the medical office.

Remus ignored all of this. He didn't care what she told them. He wasn't leaving Harry's side no matter what anyone said. And if they tried to force him, he wouldn't go quietly, be damn the consequences. He was going to fight for his family this time. He wasn't going to run or hold back. He'd broken free at last, and he was going to be sure Harry had the chance to do the same.

**xXxXxXx**

Severus sat at his kitchen table, staring blankly down at the letter lying open before him. When the knock sounded at the door, he had no idea if he'd been sitting there for minutes or hours. Blinking dry eyes, he quickly snatched the parchment from the table and hid it in his robes. A second knock sounded when he was halfway across the sitting room. He scowled, annoyed, and swung the door open quickly. The Weasley boy stood there, looking pathetic. His red bangs hung in his tired eyes and his face was paler than usual.

Severus immediately glared and crossed his arms. "Potter?"

"Fine as far as I know," Weasley assured him. "Can I come in?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow, but after a moment's consideration, he stepped aside.

"Thanks."

Weasley went to his couch and sat heavily. Severus followed him and stood a bit awkwardly next to the sitting chair across from his uninvited guest. He was aware the redhead was Harry's friend, and Severus once had dinner with Weasley and Longbottom, but they were not nearly familiar enough to warrant the redhead's visit under social pretenses.

"What's this about?" he asked. Had Weasley been a Slytherin, Severus would've gone about things more subtly, but you got better results being blunt with Gryffindors.

Weasley smiled wanly and ran a hand through his limp hair. "As you know, they're only offering training to the seventh years and those sixth years who are of age or have parental permission. So the younger years have continued the DA. Susan Bones and my sister are leading it."

"Fascinating," Severus drawled with heavy sarcasm.

"Look, don't be such a git, Snape," Weasley snapped, his temper flaring. "I'm asking you for help."

"Didn't sound that way to me." Severus glared at him impatiently.

"I was just giving you background information."

"Why don't you get to the pertinent facts."

Weasley got to his feet, scowling. "My sister got hit with a combination of spells. Her shield didn't block all of it and some got through. They don't want to go to Pomfrey because they're afraid McGonagall will disband the club. You're pretty handy with those potions, and I was hoping you could help."

Severus considered him for a moment. In the end he decided to answer truthfully. "Here's the thing, Weasley. Let's say I can help your sister. If I do so and refrain from informing the Headmistress, there's the chance that she or someone else will get hurt again in the future. Likely I will not be available to help. Maybe the injuries would be serious enough to cause permanent damage or even death. That would be on me. And I don't particularly care about them enough to take on that responsibility."

He expected the Gryffindor to explode. Instead, the redhead sighed, gaze cast downwards.

"I can understand that," Weasley said. "The thing is, you're right. But… But they're right, too. They have the right to learn to defend themselves. We're at war. The enemy has proven they don't discriminate. Man, woman, or child, if you're magical, you're a target. What happens when they go home for the holidays or the summer? What if their towns get attacked? What if they die because the adults didn't allow them to practice? That would be on you, too, wouldn't it?"

Severus was taken aback at this logical argument. Surprisingly level blue eyes lifted and held his gaze.

"True, but I'm not convinced what they learn in the DA would give them any better chance for survival," Severus finally responded. "The null-effect would render them magicless. They should practice how to survive without spells and dueling."

Weasley nodded. "I agree. I've told Ginny that I'd only help her if she agreed to my terms. I'll draw up a list of things they can practice that will actually help them."

"Then it should be okay to go to the Headmistress. If we explained all this, then surely she wouldn't disband the DA."

"No. She needs plausible deniability." Weasley grimaced. "A lot of the parents don't want their kids to worry about this stuff, and the media is already accusing McGonagall of turning Hogwarts into a soldier factory."

Severus still hesitated.

"Look, whatever happens, if someone does get hurt, it'll be on me, okay? Not you. It's not your fault whatever happens, because I'm taking that responsibility. You're just doing me a favor. It has nothing to do with the DA."

"Fine." Severus rubbed at his forehead. "Where is she?"

"I'll bring her to the room in half an hour," Weasley answered with a wide grin. "Thanks, Snape."

"Don't thank me," he warned darkly. "You owe me."

Weasley still smiled. "Yeah. I can live with that."

Once the redhead was out of his rooms, Severus returned to the table with a quill. He set the letter down and began to compose his answer. He wasn't at all comfortable with reporting to the Dark Lord, but refusing Voldemort's demand would only be tipping his hand. In the Shrieking Shack, he'd been charged with spying here in Hogwarts and he'd agreed. The information he desired on Draco Malfoy, Voldemort could get from any number of Death Eater children within the school, so Severus gained nothing by refusing. Capitulating, at least for now, allowed him to remain in a position to possibly assist Harry should he need it.

**xXxXxXx**

Pain was set in every bone, was within every breath. It throbbed and stabbed through every muscle. Harry closed his eyes tight against it. The cottony feel of his thoughts indicated he was medicated, but it only loosened the agony's hold. It didn't erase it completely. Suddenly a new sensation was added to the cacophony. Gentle fingers ran through his hair. Nails scratched softly as his scalp. A hand rubbed soothingly down his arm.

Tearing up, Harry blinked his eyes open, desperate to know who was the source of this unexpected kindness. Light blinded him, made him wince and close his eyes again, but a soft, hoarse voice encouraged him to try again. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he obeyed. The bright light was dimmer. It still made his head throb, but he could see without too much pain.

Someone was leaning over him, close to his face. It was the only way Harry could have made out any features, as near-sighted as he was. Gold-flecked amber eyes, a familiar face with scars across the narrow nose and cheek. Tawny blonde hair. Harry's chest gave sharp pangs of pain as it tightened with emotion. His body went rigid, back bowing slightly in agony.

"Cub, shhh, don't strain yourself. Relax. I'm not going anywhere. Shhh, that's it. Easy now."

Harry held that beloved gaze as he carefully breathed in and out. Slowly the pain went down to more manageable levels. "Rem…"

A familiar smile softened the man's mouth. "Hey, Harry. I got your letter."

Harry just stared up at him, dazed. This was Remus, but it wasn't. The hesitant, gentle air was gone. There was something wise and primal about Remus now. There was love in his gaze, but also a hard determination Harry had never seen there before. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, cub. Don't worry about me." Remus bent forward, breaking their eye contact, to rub their cheeks together.

Harry's eyes teared up again. He still _hungered_ for affection, for family. He'd had tastes of it, but never for very long. He was so desperate not to lose it again. "Please… don't leave me… I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I'm the one sorry for not being around. I swear I won't leave you again. I'm not the same weak man I once was. I've left all that behind me. We're going to start over, and this time I'm going to get it right."

"Remus?" Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing, but his eyes felt so heavy. He didn't have the strength to ask questions.

"Sleep, Harry. I'll be here when you wake again."

That soothing hand ran through his hair again, and Harry gave a shallow sigh as sleep dragged him under once more.

**xXxXxXx**

Draco stepped into the Headmistress' office with a distant expression on his face. His grey eyes swept the room with indifference before settling on McGonagall. The elderly witch stood in front of her desk, hair in a stern bun. New lines of stress creased her face around her eyes and mouth, but she seemed as strong as ever.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sorry to inform you there have been complications with your mother. Your father has requested that you come home for the night."

Draco nodded to show he understood. "May I use your floo?"

"Certainly." She gestured at her fireplace. "Tell your mother I wish her the best. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you." Draco let his mask slip enough to give her a genuine smile.

Without further delay, he stepped into the hearth and called out his destination and password. He twirled through the floo network for less than three minutes before he was pushed firmly through the fireplace in the receiving room at his manor.

Lucius was waiting and stood up from the chair by the door, setting a book aside. "Draco, my son."

Draco stepped forward into a welcoming embrace. "Father. How is mother?"

"Well enough." His father stared down at him, expression closed off. "I had need of you for other reasons. Go say hello before we talk. I'll be in my office."

Draco nodded, carefully keeping his curiosity from his expression. The manor was quiet. It always had been. The lack of noise comforted him. He remembered being overwhelmed when he first arrived at Hogwarts. The crowded corridors, the constant buzz of sound, it'd been impossible to focus.

He passed an elf guarding his mother's bedchamber. The creature bowed low, murmuring a greeting. He ignored it and stepped further into the darkened room. His mother lay in a massive four-poster bed. Her waist-length, long blonde hair was fanned out around her. It shinned in the low light, having recently been washed and brushed. Her belly was visibly swollen now that she was four months pregnant, but the rest of her features were the same as always. Her whole face lit up upon seeing him.

"Dragon! What are you doing here?"

"I missed you and wanted to be sure you were all right." Draco bent over her to kiss her cheek. She smelled of jasmine. He felt his stiff reserve fall away as he relaxed in her presence. He was home at last. "How are you?"

"I am well, Draco. There's no need to fuss. I have the best healers looking after me." She smoothed his hair lovingly from his face. "Tell me, how is school? Is training very difficult?"

"It is, but I enjoy the challenge. It keeps me busy." He shot her a rueful smile, knowing she'd understand.

His mother patted the bed, and he eagerly sat next to her. "Oh! They're moving. Feel."

Draco was still not happy about his future siblings, so he only reluctantly let her take his hand and place it on her swollen flesh. He felt a thump under his palm. There were two beings moving inside his mother. Draco expected to feel disgusted, but he felt intrigued instead. He looked up to see his mother was watching him closely.

"I know you are of an age to find all this bothersome. You have no need for siblings. The many years separating you will never allow you to be friends, but…" Here she looked away, down at their clasped hands over her belly. "I have hope that you will share a bond, nonetheless."

"Do you know what they are?"

She looked up at that, a beautiful smile slowly taking over her expression once more. "Boys. You will have two little brothers soon. Now there will be three sons to carry on the Malfoy name. Our family will be that much further from possible extinction."

Draco felt a sense of wonder and relief. As selfish as he knew he was, he was concerned about their being only three Malfoy's in existence. The Blacks had died out with Sirius' death. The Potter line almost disappeared with Harry's death. He didn't want the same for his family. Boys. Brothers. He shook his head with a smile. "I will have to teach them Quidditch."

His mother laughed. "Oh, Dragon. You will always be my darling."

He squeezed her hand and stood, kissing her cheek one last time. "Sleep well, Mother. I'll see you soon."

"Be well, Draco," she bade him as he slipped quietly out of her sick room.

Draco walked through the halls with a lightened heart. Brothers, huh? Maybe having siblings wouldn't be too terrible, after all. Still smiling slightly, he knocked once before entering his father's study. Lucius stood at the single large window, looking out over the north gardens. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and fell down between his shoulder blades. The pale color was striking against the black of his robes.

Lucius turned and acknowledged Draco's presence with a nod. "How is your mother?"

"Have you not visited her?" Draco asked with a frown.

"I have." Lucius turned back to the window. "We do not talk much, however."

Draco considered the man before him. Lucius had gone through so many transformations in recent years. There was the doting father Draco knew as a child, the often distant and coldly angry man during his early Hogwarts years, and finally the man he was now. He was a man broken due to his slavery under the Dark Lord, and it saddened Draco terribly.

"The Dark Lord has requested an audience with you. Are you willing to go?"

Draco glared dangerously. "I will not be a Death Eater."

"No. It is something else. A task he'd have you perform as a free agent."

"Look at me," Draco demanded, voice low.

Lucius turned to face him. His expression was utterly blank.

"Would you have me go?" Draco asked, watching his eyes carefully.

"It is your choice, Draco. I feel you would want to accept the Dark Lord's request, but I have no idea where it would lead you."

He saw no struggle in his father's eyes. Extending his senses, he didn't sense the Imperio. His father seemed genuine. "What does he want?"

"I'm forbidden to say. You must choose to come and hear my Lord for yourself, or you can choose to go back to Hogwarts and another will be given this opportunity."

Draco weighed his options. "And if I don't accept this task once I've heard it?"

"You may go back to Hogwarts freely." Lucius placed a hand over his heart. "I have no care for many things anymore, but I do care for your safety. I would not be willing to carry this message if I thought it were to lead you into a trap. You honestly have two choices. The first on whether to come. The second on whether to accept the task."

"I'll come," Draco decided. He was a Slytherin. A Slytherin took advantage of the opportunities before them and never turned down information.

Lucius inclined his head. "Take my hand. I will Apparate us."

Draco didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't the modest manor in front of him. It was two-stories and sat upon a small hill. A woods lay to the right, the trees of average height and not magical in the slightest. He looked behind them to where a small town lay twinkling in the distance. A Muggle town. He shot his father a questioning glance, but Lucius wasn't paying attention. He was approaching the manor, his stride smooth and unhesitant. With a sigh, Draco followed.

The interior of the manor was slightly more impressive, but it was still less than Malfoy Manor. He supposed that was to be expected. The Dark Lord had only been around for sixty years or so and the Malfoy family had been around for many centuries.

Together, they traversed a long corridor together, at the end of which stood two large wooden doors. These swung open silently before they could be touched and revealed a throne room beyond. Now Draco was impressed.

The room was crafted to perfection. The lighting was dark, but not enough to have you tripping. The high ceiling made one feel insignificant as he approached the raised dais that sat a simple yet regal throne. The Dark Lord sat there, red eyes watching their approach the way a predator would study prey. Voldemort's dark hair blended in with the shadows of the room, and his long nails tapped out an eerie beat on the ornate armrests.

"Young Malfoy. Welcome."

Draco came to a stop five feet from the stage and gave a deep bow. "Thank you, Lord Voldemort. I am honored to be here."

"Rise. I have something to discuss with you."

Draco straightened and stared into red. "I am all ears, Lord."

The thin mouth gave birth to a sinister smile. "I would offer you specialized training every week night instead of what is offered at your school. It would make you dangerous and powerful, a warrior beyond what they would teach you." The Dark Lord's voice was silk-smooth with promise. "You will still be free to participate in the extensive training undergone during weekends with your fellow peers."

"And the price of this generous offer?" Draco asked carefully. He wasn't stupid in the least.

"I want you to sign a contract with me to become Harry Potter's bodyguard."

Draco's eyes widened despite his control.

Voldemort's smile grew, revealing sharp teeth. "I'm aware you've had… difficulties in the past regarding the Boy Hero. However, such difficulties might make you better suited to this task than any other. You would be less likely to fall under the sway of the little Lord, having been burned by him once. You are wise to his tricks. Also, Potter's enemies will underestimate you. You can be with Harry at all times where an adult would be unwelcome."

Draco swallowed hard, his mind racing. The idea of being given an official position in Harry's life was tempting. It would allow him closer to his obsession… but was that really what he wanted? He'd made the decision to break free of Harry's influence. To try and get past their history together. But maybe this would be even better. He'd prove to be Harry's equal. He'd carve out a relationship with Harry on his terms this time.

"And if he rejects me?" he demanded coolly.

Voldemort laughed. The sound made shivers go down Draco's back. "Potter will not refuse. Your position will be assured, do not fret."

Draco frowned. "Will I be expected to report back to you or to take the Dark Mark?"

"No." Voldemort lifted an arm and rested his chin on his fist. "I have no need for that. Consider yourself providing a service. I am hiring you. In exchange, I will personally teach you every week night for six months. Is that acceptable?"

Draco held the Dark Lord's gaze. He knew he wasn't near clever enough to outsmart this man, and he wasn't near strong enough to overpower him. By getting involved, he was leaving himself vulnerable, but he was also opening himself to opportunities he'd find nowhere else. Just as his father had promised, Draco had a choice. He gave a sharp smile of his own and chose his fate.

"I accept."

Voldemort gave another toothy smile. "Excellent."

**Chapter end.**

**A/N:** Sorry for the short chapter. I felt you'd appreciate something better than nothing. I'm currently working through outlining this story. The long delays between chapters will probably continue until that's done. I hope you can bear with me!


	26. Marching Forward

**Marching Forward**

The blond standing in front of Severus wore a superior smirk that was oh so familiar. This was definitely Lucius' child, which made Severus doubly suspicious as the teen held out a dark red envelop. The same color red as the missive he'd received from the Dark Lord. He ignored the letter, instead shifting his attention to the bearer.

"Why should I deliver it? Do it yourself."

Draco's smile became lazy as he tapped the thick envelope against his chin. It was a pose of utter arrogance, but it also signaled Severus that the paper wasn't doused in poison. That didn't mean it was safe, however. "I wonder what exactly bonds you and Potter. Last I knew, you and he were mortal enemies. In fact, _godfather_, your older self had quiet the animus against Potter before your change. So I find myself wondering what could have possibly happened to make you two such good _friends_ so quickly."

There was something knowing in the blonde's eyes. It was dark and ugly, and Severus needed no Legilimency to understand the undercurrents of Draco's poisonous words. The teen believed he and Harry were bound by sex. Draco resented the intimacy, seemed to imply Severus was failing his duty as godfather because of it. Severus was beginning to believe he understood what Harry meant when he said he'd abused Draco. But if it were as simple as rape, why was Draco so viciously jealous?

Not that Severus would _ever_ be able to forgive Potter for committing an act so heinous. And there was that time Severus had found Harry tortured in an abandoned classroom with evidence of sexual abuse. Draco was the more likely rapist. The whole puzzle baffled him, actually, and it wasn't a sensation Severus enjoyed. In fact, it annoyed him greatly.

Impatient, Draco held out the envelope once more. He was done playing. "It appears they removed my name from the acceptable list of visitors. Yours remains. So give this to Potter for me. If you don't, I'll simply find someone else who will." A malicious glint appeared in the blond's eyes. "Can you guarantee they'll check it over as well as you? I'd _hate_ for something to happen to Potter."

It was a good tactic to use. Severus had no choice but to accept the missive now. To protect Harry. Severus silently, wandlessly, cast a barrier around his fingertips and accepted the letter. Should the parchment be cursed or poisoned, it would offer at least minimal protection.

Draco flashed him a sharp smile and gave a little bow. "I'll be seeing you around, I expect."

Severus watched him go, not saying a word. Once he was alone in the corridor, he continued on to the Hospital Wing. He was already late for his turn to sit with Harry. As he walked, he pointed his wand down at the paper and mumbled a constant string of revealing charms and diagnostics. He found nothing. It was normal parchment, nothing magical about it except that it had been sealed with a charm. Severus tested that area twice.

After seven spells, it appeared to only be an innocent sealing charm. However, he still felt uneasy. What were the chances that the person the Dark Lord had asked him to report on now wanted to deliver a mysterious letter to Harry Potter? Well, Harry and Voldemort were supposedly allies. There was no reason to withhold the letter even if it was from the Dark Lord, but why was Voldemort going through Draco Malfoy of all people? Why had the Dark Lord asked Severus to report on the teen's behavior and activities if Voldemort could evaluate Draco himself?

Due to the late hour, or should he say early morning hour, there was only one healer and an unfamiliar man in Harry's private room. He was halfway across the room before he realized who the man had to be. He froze in mid-step, heart instantly beginning to rocket against his ribs as fear flooded his system. Nearly golden eyes lifted and pinned him in place. Those eyes widened comically.

"Severus?" Remus Lupin exclaimed in shock equal to Severus' own. "What…? But…? _How?_"

The healer lifted his head from the corner where a common desk sat. "Perhaps you should take this conversation outside? My patient needs rest."

Lupin unpinned his stare to glare at the arrogant man, an inhuman growl slipping past his lips. Severus shivered, feeling sick. The healer sniffed, unimpressed, but Severus noted he had abandoned his attempts to kick them out. Animalistic eyes swung Severus' way once more. They mirrored the eyes from Severus' nightmares, and Severus' magic spiked around him. The empty potion vials sitting by Harry's bed shattered. Lupin flinched, his arm swinging wide to cover Harry's limp form, as if to protect him.

"Get away from him," Severus hissed, fingers and toes going ice cold as adrenalin sent blood rushing to his head.

Lupin's eyes grew flinty as a nearly subsonic growl began to resonate from his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, Severus."

"Stop." The weak voice drew his attention, and Severus was instantly caught up in deep green eyes. "Sev'us." Harry's pale, dry lips turned up into a smile even as sweat began to bead his forehead from the effort of speaking. Still smiling, those eyes left him to rest on the monster hovering at the bedside. "Moony. Sev'us best… friend."

Severus' cheeks instantly went hot despite his best efforts. He could hardly hold Harry's eyes as the teen looked across at him once more. Best friend? He had grown up sneering at such inane, childish titles; he'd scoffed at the _idea_ of friendship, and yet here he stood, heat rushing to fill his face at the simple truth in those words.

"Moony. Like father. Please. Don' fight."

Severus couldn't deny the gentle plea of his first real friend, but he couldn't deny his utter terror in the face of his almost-killer either. Lupin had nearly eaten him alive, and the monster didn't seem to be too far from the surface. Not like it had been before, when Lupin had been his age and stumbled around acting meek and human.

"Don't talk, pup." Lupin leaned over to brush Harry's hair from his face.

The proximity of the werewolf's mouth and hands to Harry made Severus' gut clench. His heart was racing in his chest. Severus didn't think he could hold his magic back from attacking much longer.

Lupin's luminous eyes lifted to meet Severus'. "I don't know why Severus looks like a teenager again, but I can smell how uncomfortable I make him. I'll let you two have a moment. I promise I'll be right outside if you need me."

"Thanks," Harry whispered.

Severus nearly jumped out of the way as Lupin came toward him. For a split second, those eyes softened into the brown he knew from the teenaged Remus Lupin and filled with regret and sorrow, but then that flash was gone and the glowing amber came back. Neither said a word as Lupin slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Severus tore his eyes away from the feeble barrier separating him from the werewolf and hurried to Harry's side. He still felt sick with fear, but he'd been trained from childhood to hide it. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "How are you feeling?"

Harry gave another wane, pale smile.

"That good, huh?" Severus took a seat and lifted the envelope so Harry could see it clearly. "Draco asked me to give this to you."

Green eyes looked past the missive to Severus, a question written clearly there.

"Would you like me to read it?"

Harry gave a small nod, so Severus tore open the paper and pulled free the thick card held within. His eyes widened as he read aloud the words printed there. All thoughts of the werewolf instantly disappeared.

"Harry Potter, I believe you recall the two debts you owe me. I call upon you to fulfill the first by taking on Draco Malfoy as your sworn protector." Severus looked over at Harry. "There is no signature."

Harry had his eyes closed. "Never is."

Severus read a world of unhappiness in the way his friend twisted the bed sheets helplessly in his fists. The way his lips were pressed so tightly together they blanched white. Severus regretted bearing news that had upset Harry, especially in his current condition. He neatly folded the letter up and slipped it back into his robes, denying his first impulse of crumpling it. Severus was aware that it might be useful at a later time. Taking a deep breath, hands now free, he reached for Harry's clenched fist. Heart pounding, Severus covered his friend's hand, and he was pleased to see some of the tension drain out of Harry's body.

Pained green eyes opened. "Must do."

Severus nodded in full understanding. Dealing with the Dark Lord often led to situations where you had no choice except to submit, but Severus didn't understand why the Dark Lord had chosen Draco Malfoy of all people for the position. There were dozens of candidates more qualified to act as Harry's bodyguard. Not to mention that after the assassination attempt most everyone in Hogwarts would close ranks around the powerful young Lord. In particular, Harry's close friends and the Order of the Phoenix were going to be more protective than ever. Harry would hardly need an official bodyguard when a whole army of people would be more on guard than ever before.

"Why Draco?"

Harry loosed a tired sigh. "Vold can't get close. Not 'til people… calm down. He can control… Draco. Knows how to get… in his head. Draco next to me… is like Vold next to me."

Severus echoed his sigh. Of course Harry was absolutely correct. Although Draco was relatively inexperienced, he was Harry's peer and familiar to everyone in the castle. Slytherin or not, Draco would be accepted by the students and staff more readily than an outsider. Also, no one else would be completely loyal to Lord Voldemort they way Draco would be, considering that his family had been Dark for ages and his father was within the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. As for his inexperience, Draco's youth would only make him easier to manipulate and control. Finally, there was this mysterious act that Harry was supposedly guilty of. It would motivate Draco. Where others would stop or admit defeat, Draco's obsession would drive him on. Taking all this into account, the Dark Lord choosing Draco as his agent wasn't that surprising or even unwise.

"Handle, Sev?"

"You want me to be your overseer?" Severus asked in surprise.

"Trust you," Harry whispered before wincing.

A soft alarm sounded and the healer rose quickly to attend to Harry's pain. Severus quickly backed away as Lupin came striding into the room, returning to his post beside the bed. Severus shivered, very glad he was not the healer and did not have to work with those terrible eyes fastened on him.

Harry's eyes slipped closed as the healer's sedative began to take effect, and when Severus looked up, he saw that Lupin was watching him. Keeping his face as stoic as possible, Severus turned and left the room. He had a ritual to prepare and a godson to speak to. He most certainly did not have time to have staring contests with monsters.

**xXxXxXx**

Draco felt black jealously churn beneath his skin, black as Severus' soul. He tried to push it down, but it refused to die completely. It was all so tangled in his head. It made his chest feel full of taffy and shattered glass. Harry had taken a new lover to bed. Severus had to be destroyed; so what if he'd been Draco's godfather? Harry was _Draco's_, it didn't matter who the lover was. They had to be removed.

Not that Draco wanted to be Harry's lover; no way was he falling into that abyss again. He had sworn to himself that he'd never again let Potter control him. And as for Severus, his godfather was _dead_. This wasn't the same man who'd sat by him when he was alone in the manor, who'd taught him chess, who'd guided him and cared for him. So it was ridiculous that Draco felt so betrayed.

It _burned_ to think of Severus lying underneath Harry, taking pleasure from the person Draco knew so well. Worse, he imagined Severus on top, dominating the indomitable. Flashes of Harry, vulnerable, flushed, and crying against a classroom wall, had Draco sweating, his pulse racing. Lust, betrayal, rage, and a deep abiding hurt… Draco had no idea what to do with the maelstrom raging in his head.

He'd opened himself to Harry, allowed the Gryffindor into the deepest part of his soul. Draco had let him into every desire; let Harry utterly control his body. Draco had loved him in a way he knew he'd never love again. No one would be allowed as deep as Harry had gone because Draco would never survive it. He'd given himself over completely, and it had all been a lie. Harry had _manipulated_ him. He had used Draco shamelessly. Worse, he'd seen all of Draco's soul and had sneered as if it were worth nothing.

With a roar, Draco flung the last of his clothes into his trunk and slammed the lid. He leaned, head hanging, against the trunk, breathing hard. He didn't move as he heard the door to his bedroom open. Only two people would dare enter without obtaining permission first.

"Draco?" That was Pansy, her voice soft as it only was with him.

"Is everything all right?" And Blaise, his closest friend.

Draco turned and gave them a sharp smile. "Everything is perfect. The Dark Lord has agreed to become my personal tutor during the weekends."

"Is that why you're packing?" Pansy asked carefully.

"No." Draco looked down at his trunk, hunger in his eyes. "No. I'm packing because I'll be living elsewhere starting tomorrow."

"This have to do with Potter?"

Draco turned to look at Blaise. His friend's dark eyes were colder than Draco had ever seen them before, and Draco felt his body tense, his blood strumming with the urge to do battle, to destroy anything and everything that stood in his way. "Yes. As of tomorrow, I will be his foresworn protector."

Pansy's hands lifted to her face. "Oh, Draco, no. How could you swear your life to that arrogant lowlife? Are you really willing to _die_ for him?"

Draco strode across the room, rage overwhelming him. She flinched and lifted her arms in defense, but he batted those away easily. His left hand snapped forward and grabbed her by the throat. "I'm not going to die, Pansy. And neither is he. If anyone tries to harm him, I will tear them apart. That's my duty, and I'm not going to fail. Is that understood?" He released her with a little push, and she fell back gasping, tears freely streaking her face.

"Determined to be a lapdog, Draco?" Blaise's voice was harsh with scorn.

Draco met his stare head-on. "I'm no one's lapdog," he whispered, voice laced with venomous warning. "I will gain power at Potter's side. And at the end of it all, it will be they who will come to depend on _me_, who will need _me_. I will hold the _true_ power." He stepped forward and gently traced a finger down Blaise's cheek. "And if you ever question me again, I will rip your face off. Is that clear, Blaise darling?"

"Don't be that way. You know we love you, Draco." Pansy reached out to lay a hesitant hand on his arm. "We'd follow you anywhere."

Draco held Blaise's gaze until the teen looked away. He turned to Pansy and offered her a cool smile. "Thank you." He lifted her hand to his lips and lay a soft kiss across her knuckles "Your loyalty honors me."

She blushed hotly as if he hadn't just offered her violence a second before. "Can I help you pack?" she asked, wiping away her tears.

"I have everything arranged." Draco gestured them out of the room. "How about a game of chess? We shouldn't waste this time we have together."

"That's a wonderful idea," Pansy enthused. "I'll set up the board."

Draco turned to Blaise, who still stood with his face angled down.

"I will always be on your side, Draco, but don't ask me to ever forgive him for what he wrought. I cannot."

Taking a quick step forward and pressing his body against his friend's, Draco swallowed Blaise's gasp of surprise with a brutal kiss. Stepping back, wide brown eyes stared at him in shock, and Draco reached up to grasp his best friend's jaw. "Potter is under my protection," he stated, eyes nearly glowing in fury. "Don't ever forget that, Blaise." Draco released him, leaving small, bloody crescents pressed into Blaise's cheek.

**xXxXxXx**

Hermione felt her heart beat race against her chest as she stepped into Harry's private ward. Severus and Headmistress McGonagall had reported Harry was staying conscious longer and longer as the days passed. It was only a matter of time before Harry was awake during one of her watches.

As she approached the white bed and the pale teen lying so vulnerable and ill within it, she felt her body relax. Harry's bruised eyes were shut, his expression peaceful with sleep. Hermione wasn't afraid to talk to him, but she wasn't certain she had the strength to see it through, either, and she was afraid that if she let Harry get away with not telling her the truth even once, he'd never get around to answering all of her desperate questions.

"You can have the chair."

Hermione lifted her eyes to Ron and offered him a smile. Ron had been with her as much as was physically possible since she'd been back. She almost hadn't recognized him. He was so serious now and considerate. He was also taller, his body hard and muscled from the intense training he'd been undergoing. But his bullheaded stubbornness was the same as always. "Thanks," she said softly and took the single seat. She'd learned to pick her battles, and the seating arrangement wasn't worth it. She watched quietly as Ron's attention shifted to their friend.

He stepped up close to the bed and rested his hand on top of Harry's. "Hey, mate. Hope you're feeling better. We really miss you out there."

Hermione felt tears burn her eyes. It was true. Even with all the doubts and the sick fear, she still missed her best friend. Harry had always understood her, often better than Ron, and he'd been the first one to reach out to her when Ron had hurt her feelings all those years ago. In many ways, even though Ron became her friend the second that Harry did, Harry was her first. She loved him. She loved them both, and she wanted all the darkness inside her to go away.

Ron tensed, anticipation spiking around him, and she flashed her eyes up to see Harry's face become lit with awareness. Hermione held her breath as glassy green eyes fluttered open. An innocent, drugged smile stretched across Harry's face as he stared up at his best friend. Ron instantly bent down, his red hair shockingly bright against all the white in the room, an answering smile on his face. Guilt speared her insides that she couldn't find it in herself to smile with them.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. You with us?" Ron asked softly.

"Ron," Harry answered in a whisper. "Miss you."

Ron squeezed Harry's hand in answer.

Harry's eyes drifted lazily to the side and found Hermione. At first she feared he wouldn't recognize her. She'd lost a lot of weight, her face unattractively thin, and her bushy, frizzy hair had been sheared close to her skull. She feared for nothing. He knew her instantly, and his smile grew brighter.

"Mione," he said on a sigh.

She gathered her strength and stood. Carefully she put her hand over Ron's. "Hey, Harry."

Harry's smile wavered as his eyes filled with tears. Then it disappeared completely with a look of utter sadness. "Sorry. So sorry, Mione. Didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Harry? What happened?" she asked quietly, but it was said with steel in her voice. She wanted answers and she was determined to have them. Ron shot her a disapproving look, but she ignored him.

"Didn't know. Thought you'd be safe." Harry's face crumpled as he began to cry. Ron instantly began to stroke his hair with his free hand, trying to soothe him. "So stupid. Shouldn't've risked it. Love you so much. Sorry. So sorry!"

"Shhh," Ron shushed him as the spells around Harry began to light up and pulse warningly. The infirmary door opened and Remus came into the room, his strides inhumanly graceful. At the same time, a side door opened and a disgruntled Healer came hurrying over.

"He's not allowed to get worked up!" The Healer already had his wand out and was gesturing for them to step back. Remus took a protective stance by the head of the bed and stared hard at Hermione.

She backpedaled quickly, heart racing. She had more questions than before, and yet again people were getting in her way, preventing her from finding peace. Tears streaked her face and she clenched her fists in utter frustration. Ron grabbed her arm, after saying something to Harry about being back, and pulled her out the doors.

"What is your problem? Can't you wait until he's well before you go demanding answers? You think I don't have questions of my own? But he's sick, Mione. You can't just push him like that. Not now."

She spun to face him, instantly furious. "I was driven literally _insane_, Ronald! You have no idea what this is like for me! How unbearable! He can help me! He can give me answers!"

Ron's blue eyes blazed. "I may not know how it feels, but I know dissecting someone when they're still in critical condition and drugged up on potions is unacceptable. And if you can't see that, if you can't look past your own hurt to see even that much," he flung his long arm out to the side to point back at the door to Harry's room, "If you can't see how sick and weak Harry is, then maybe you should go back to St. Mungo's. Maybe you shouldn't be back at school."

Hermione gasped, her hands covering her mouth as she stared up at Ron in shock. He watched her impassively before turning and striding down the corridor, leaving her there. Hermione literally felt gutted. She staggered to the side. Her shoulder impacted the stone wall hard. Her legs trembled under her, and she nearly slid to the floor. Covering her face, Hermione gave in to the sobs tearing at her throat to escape.

"Here."

Gasping, she peeked through her fingers to see Remus Lupin standing in front of her. His expression was impassive and in his outstretched hand rested a letter.

"Harry wrote this to me. It doesn't have all the details, I'm still not sure what's going on, but it might help you to understand a little more." He pulled the note away when she reached for it and stared hard into her eyes. "Understand that I'm giving this to you only because Harry would be hurt to know how unwell you are. Don't come back into that room until you are able to be civil. I swore I would protect Harry, that I'd do it right this time. If that includes protecting him from you, then so be it."

Trembling, Hermione reached for the letter, undeterred by the threat glittering in her professor's once gentle eyes. If that letter really did have answers, then she had to have it no matter what. He released it this time, and she quickly unfolded it, eyes devouring the words.

One section in particular stood out:

… _I don't recall our last meeting, but by your absence I fear the worst._

_You see, I was under the influence of a Dark spell since the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore discovered the truth, and in the process of freeing me, he died. He died for me. Other people have died for me, too. Cedric, even Severus died for me in a way. So here I am. Free now, with little to no recollection of my actions during the seven months following the battle in the Ministry. I can't tell you how sick I am over what I've learned I'm guilty of…_

Hermione's hands spasmed around the paper, ripping it. Remus was long gone. She stood alone in the corridor and she stared blankly at the wall across from her. The letter had told her some but not all. She still had so much to understand. What did that mean that he had no memory of those months? Was that even possible or was this a lie?

They would have noticed, wouldn't they? Ron and her, and everyone else. They would have noticed if he'd become a completely different person…

There was the gambling and the political maneuvering with Slughorn. That hadn't been like Harry, but at other times Harry had seemed himself; perfectly normal if a little broody.

But Sirius had just died, and Harry had been abused by his family that summer. They'd thought that explained his weird behavior. Now Harry was saying he'd been cursed so badly that he didn't even remember those months!

But even cursed, she would not have thought Harry capable of hurting her like he had. Of hurting his lover. She'd seen the way he'd treated Draco, and it hadn't been right. In fact, it had been downright abusive.

What kind of Dark curse could do that to a person? Was there evil in Harry somewhere that the curse had unleashed? Was Harry really gay or was that part of the curse, too? And why would a curse make anyone gay? What was the point?

Or had something else happened? What exactly happened back then? Why had he Obliviated her? Because she was certain that it had been Harry who had done this to her.

Then there were Harry's words of a few minutes ago. He'd said that he shouldn't have risked it. Did that mean he'd had a choice? She was so confused. She didn't know what to believe.

"Answers are like books," a soft, whimsical voice said, pulling her head around. Hermione stared teary-eyed at the strange, blonde Ravenclaw. "They can trap you in a spiral, downward and downward, until all that is are words. You need to see the people, the earth, the trees. Visit the words in the books, but leave them there."

Hermione closed her eyes and finally let her legs give way. She slid down the wall. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she wondered if Ron was right. Maybe she should go back to St. Mungo's. Maybe she wasn't well enough to be back in the castle; maybe she wasn't well enough to search for answers.

"Don't fall down, Hermione Granger. You returned in order to stand up. To stand with the Forest King and his Red Knight. Remember?"

Stung, sensitive about her memory, she glared fiercely. "I remember."

Luna gave her a sweet, gentle smile. "Good." She continued passed Hermione's crumpled form, patting her head as she went, and turned the corner without another word.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes.

**xXxXxXx**

The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. The Minister had no energy left to light more. Even that simple spell was beyond him at this point. In any case, his guests didn't seem to mind or even notice the poor lighting. The Dark Lord and the Order of the Phoenix's second in command crossed the room without saying a word and took the chairs in front of his desk.

Scrimegeour eyed the Dark Lord's blood-soaked robes, but couldn't find any disgust for his ally. At this point, seeing the blood of their enemy could only bring him joy. Voldemort's eyes were alight with battle, and he flashed a smile with teeth. Scrimegeour didn't smile back. Soot smudged the Minister's cheek and his hair was fluffier than usual. McGonagall looked equally grim. She was clutching her arm that she had injured yet again.

"Italy and Japan have fallen," Scrimegeour announced, seeing no need to delay. There was no way to soften such a blow. "Russia and China aren't sure how much longer they can stand against the Invaders."

Voldemort's magic stirred dangerously, thickening the shadows in the room to true black. "They are keeping us pinned here, so that we cannot leave to assist the other communities."

McGonagall made a choked sound, clearing her throat. "Are the Muggles aware?"

Scrimegeour rubbed a hand over his face. "No. Once the magical communities were eradicated, all attacks in those countries stopped."

"We should interweave ourselves with the Muggles," Voldemort spoke slowly, thoughtfully.

Scrimegeour and McGonagall turned to him with shocked expressions.

Voldemort's dangerous smile returned. "Obviously the attackers are being careful not to involve Muggles or to gain the general populace's attention. Only purely magical towns and quarters are being raided. We should make it that a raid on us will mean the equal loss of _precious_ Muggle lives." He drawled the word precious as if it were the most disgusting word he knew.

"Everyone's terrified of the Muggles now," McGonagall argued tiredly. "They hardly leave their homes anymore. They aren't going to go mingle in Muggle London."

Before Voldemort could say anything scathing, Scrimegeour spoke up. "I'll make an announcement explaining the situation. Those with town homes in the city will be encouraged for their safety to return to them."

That was all that they could do.

**Chapter end.**


End file.
